


In A Warden's Wake

by NeverGoodbye



Series: Dragon Age: Breynna's Canon [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drama, Early Work, F/M, Fantasy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-15
Updated: 2010-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 41,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverGoodbye/pseuds/NeverGoodbye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breynna thought that the death of the archdemon would be the beginning of recovery for Ferelden and her people. Little did she know there were threats just as sinister waiting in the shadow of the beast; threats that would endanger all the plans - for herself, Alistair, and their beloved land - that she so carefully laid during the Blight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. During the Blight

**Author's Note:**

> With much love to [Wagontrain](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Wagontrain/pseuds/Wagontrain) for his patience and advice during the writing/editing process for this work. I could not have finished this without you! Also, thank you future readers - having the chance to take you into my DA world for a few moments makes all the work completely worthwhile. :)

_Prologue_

Joining the ranks of the Grey Wardens had never crossed Breynna Cousland’s mind until necessity drove it there. Rescuing her from the coup Rendon Howe enacted upon her family, Duncan recruited Breynna to a path of unparalleled adventure and destiny, ultimately saving the world from the crushing force of the Fifth Blight.

Throughout her travels, she was joined by companions from all walks of life but her closest and most trusted ally was that of her fellow Warden Alistair. Inseparable during their travels and devoted to each other during battles, friendship and love flourished amidst the darkness that threatened their world. Together, they persevered to uphold the moral truths they believed in – saving the Mage’s Circle and Arl Eamon’s son, preserving the Urn of Sacred Ashes, releasing the cursed werewolves, and destroying the Anvil of the Void.

But when that duty became inextricably tied to the fate of their beloved, the lines of ethicality were less clearly drawn; the temptation to make compromises more enticing. Breynna betrayed Anora’s trust and support in order to instate Alistair to the throne – and chose herself to rule beside him. And when faced with the prospect of death along with the Archdemon, she chose to allow Morrigan’s dark ritual to take the place of their rightful sacrifice.

Now, weeks after the formal end of the Blight, Breynna resides in the Denerim castle, attempting to readjust to daily life. She is a recognized Hero across her land, serves as wife and dignitary for Alistair’s fledgling reign, and she has been appointed Commander of the Ferelden order of Grey Wardens. For this latter task, she will soon journey north to the fortress of Virgil’s Keep and the promise of adventures that remain to be seen.

But a hero’s life is never an easy one to lead, especially in the wake of the many upheavals brought on by the Blight. There are troubles and problems that will demand her attention and test her patience sooner than Breynna had ever imagined, and more challenging than she would ever like to admit….


	2. A Royal Welcome

Breynna rolled over groggily and, seeing the stifled light trying to shine out from behind the heavy velvet curtains, yawned contentedly. It must be at least midday, a thought she found indulgently satisfying. She considered making an effort to rise from the thick warm mass of blankets and pillows, but the more she attempted to, the more they called her back to their soft, inviting comfort.  She had spent the better part of two entire days dozing and waking in her new bedchamber. After months of sleeping on the ground outside, or dozing when she could in her armor, ever vigilant of darkspawn or the next brutal attack, an elegant and comfortable bed was one pleasure she could not seem to get enough of. Well, she amended as she glanced to the place where he had slept next to her the night before, one of two pleasures.

In time she rose, and began the rituals of starting her day.  There came a soft rap at the door and Auralee, her attendant, appeared in the doorway. She was a small elf with kind, expressive green eyes and she carried herself with poise and dignity. She was only ten or fifteen years older than Breynna but her hair was a light silver-grey and her mannerisms reminded Breynna of Wynne when they first met. Already, Auralee was acutely attentive to Breynna’s needs and actions, seemingly able to anticipate what Breynna needed even before she did. Breynna had grown up around servants, was used to their presence and their deft touch, but it had never been to this scale before. Every time she turned around, Auralee was there, and she knew just what Breynna needed. It had taken some time to adjust to this attentiveness, and Breynna wasn’t sure she completely had, or ever really would. Honestly, she realized, there was much about life in the castle that she would need to time to adjust to.

“It is good to see you awake, my lady.” Auralee spoke and moved gracefully to Breynna with the experience and poise that came from years of being a queen’s attendant. And perhaps it was just the sense of newness or the sleep that hadn’t fully been chased from her eyes, but the gaze with which her new lady looked at her was full of a kindness and an expressiveness that Auralee had never seen in Anora’s eyes. It kindled in Auralee a vague sense of pleasure or even hope, but for what exactly she could not say.

Breynna yawned loudly and darted a glance back to her skewed bedcovers. She had a mad desire to bury herself in them once again and keep on forgetting the world around her. But before she could give in to the temptation of her bed again, Auralee had guided her away. She gently sat Breynna down into the fine sitting chair by the window and began taking a golden comb through her ash blonde hair. As she worked, she described for Breynna the regal new dresses than had been tailored for her.

“Auralee, you are too kind,” Breynna chided her, “but I have not worn a dress in many, many years. I would not begin to know what I should wear. I trust they are all wonderfully made, so I defer to your knowledge on the subject.”

Auralee paused only momentarily with this odd request before continuing with her duties. Queens were always so fickle, she thought. It was a good thing they rarely made their own choices after all. A small smile crept into the corners of her mouth nonetheless, and after a few moments she spoke.

“No, my lady, you are the kind one. It’s been just as long since anyone consulted me about my personal choices in such matters. I dare say it’s been as long since you say you’ve worn a dress.”

Her eyes had a bit of a sparkle to them, one Breynna had only ever seen in elves’ eyes. She sensed a reserved happiness in the maid and wanted to talk more, but realized she knew little of elven lives - particularly those of the serving class - and was unsure how to broach the topic. Her only extended conversations with an elf had been with Zevran - and as he was a hypersexual would-be assassin she felt that was a particular approach that would be inappropriate at best. In the end, she said nothing. Auralee broke the silence instead a while later as she began discussing the tasks of the day ahead. Bustling over to the armoire, she opened it and pulled out a beautifully tailored gown. “I believe the green one will bring out your eyes. His Majesty will be beside himself for love of you.”

***

  
“What do you say, Teyrn Cousland? Do you accept these knights into your service?”

Fergus bowed his head slightly in response to the king’s words. “I do accept, your Majesty. I am honored to have these men to serve you and my country.”

“Then by royal decree, I raise the Cousland Knights to the order of Ferelden Protectorate. May the Maker watch over and guide your righteous path, my good men.” When Alistair had finished speaking to the gathering, the newly knighted men rose looking at him gratefully. Alistair paused a moment in hesitation and glanced over to where Advisor Eamon watched them. Upon his nod of approval, Alistair continued, this time addressing one knight in particular. “Ser Rilen, you and your fellow knights have an important task ahead. Go with Teyrn Cousland and the other recruits to secure the countryside around Denerim. We must restore order to our land and our people at once.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” He bowed his head and the knights followed suit, each grateful for the distinction and the opportunity to help restore their beloved homeland.

“Report back to me your progress and if you encounter any remaining darkspawn.”

“It shall be done.”

“Oh and Teyrn Cousland?”

“Yes, Sire?”

Alistair laid his hand on Fergus’ shoulder and smiled. “Your sister has set the bar high in sheer numbers of darkspawn killed. You have quite a bit of catching up to do.” 

Fergus smiled and bowed once more before taking his leave. Alistair watched the formation of knights process out of the throne room. When they had nearly reached the door they stopped suddenly as rapid footfalls heralded Lady Breynna’s approach. She was quite out of breath. She had run as fast as her ornate attire had allowed when Auralee had told her that her brother’s inauguration was taking place. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him in the commanding officer’s suit of plate armor and threw her arms around him.

“I know you will be a great commander for these men,” she told him. “And a noble leader of our people back in Highever. I am so proud of you.”

He took her hands in his, beaming. “Me? Dear sister, you have saved us all. I could not be more proud of you. You have brought the greatest honor to our family imaginable.”

He laughed and cradled her face with one hand. “I have no doubt that Mother and Father would be proud too, if they were here to see.” Her lip quivered ever so slightly at the thought of their parents but she pushed away the grief; this was a happy occasion after all. They embraced again before she released him to his new duties.

“Gentlemen,” she curtsied to the knights before continuing up the walk to her king. _Her king._ She liked the sound of that, foreign as it was. And Alistair was definitely looking the part, regal in a royal purple and blue lounging suit and fringed in gold. Jewels glittered magnificently inlaid in the crown that was almost the same shade as his golden blonde hair underneath. As she approached, he drew a sharp breath in. “By the Maker, you look stunning.” He grinned from ear to ear as she approached and took her into his arms. He ran a hand through her hair, careful not to disturb the bloom of Andraste’s Grace that Auralee had plaited into the Queen’s hair.

“I still can hardly believe we are here. Together, I mean. Ferelden safe once more, an orphan boy raised to lead this land, and most importantly, the woman I love by my side.” He grinned broadly, a hint of mischief flickering over his features. “You _are_ still my woman, right? You didn’t wake up after your long slumber and realize you made a terrible mistake, did you?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, of course not. I think if I can handle the Archdemon, I can put up with you, too.”  

“Oh ho! And she wakes with a _vengeance_.” He chuckled and placed a kiss on her lips before he spoke again. “You know, when I studied in the Chantry, there was a plate of colored glass that depicted the Prophet enraptured by the holy light of the Maker. I always thought the world blessed to be in the light of such an angel.” He looked deeply into her eyes as he held her. “And here I am, enchanted by an angel of my own. I am blessed beyond words to have you with me.”

She gazed up at him lovingly, enjoying the sentimental side of his nature shining through. The events of the past had irrevocably changed them both but it was good to see that his heart had remained true. Somewhere inside he was still the charming, whimsical man by the fire who had captured her heart.

They made a handsome couple there in the throne room, he adorned with gold and jewels and she in the stunning dark green dress. She couldn’t deny that she shared Alistair’s disbelief that things had worked out _so well_ for them in the end. Some part of her mind still nagged at her that it couldn’t be this easy. There was certainly much uncertainty left in the world and so many loose ends that needed tying up. Save that for another day, she told herself. For this moment she just wanted to enjoy the spoils of their victory.  

It was a short-lived feeling though, as a formidable figure entered into the room and broke their privacy. Dressed in fine battle leathers and adorned with a crisp dark cloak, the Ranger advanced toward them full of intent. For her part, Ser Hastria felt like she was intruding on a child’s storybook scene as she entered the throne room. Everything seemed a little too perfect for her tastes, particularly the displays of affection between the new rulers. Love was an unrealistic notion that true kings and queens had little time for. In time, perhaps these two would learn as much. 

She bowed curtly, “The Rangers’ reports have arrived, your Majesty.” She walked a fine line between obedience and treason and she knew this. In these days of evil undead and civil unrest, it was entirely too easy to lose one’s head, and she was rather fond of her own. Still, Hastria longed for the days before this whole nonsense with the Blight and only half-heartedly concealed it. Back then, her Rangers were the most esteemed reconnaissance agents of Queen Anora. They had a reputation for being fierce in battle and feared for their ability to discover and dispose of any who stood in their way. Now though, her work seemed like little more than a messenger service for this bastard king and she fiercely despised it. There passed a few moments of awkward silence as she stood stoically before the new regents looking them over with an icy gaze.

Auralee, sensing the diplomatic need, stepped in from the vestibule. “Shall I escort the Lady to the Great Hall now, your highnesses?” Breynna glanced at Alistair with deferment but he had no desire to send her away. It was quite the opposite, really. He felt much less nervous receiving the news and current events of the country now that she was present beside him. “No, thank you Auralee, I wish my queen to stay a while longer.” The elf bowed respectfully and exited back to the side chambers awaiting her call if they needed her. Again, Breynna detected a hint of the twinkle in her eyes as she left.

Overcoming her resentment, Ser Hastria began hastily with the business at hand. “The first report comes from the Ranger stationed outside of Orzammar. She writes that darkspawn numbers have not increased within the patrolled areas of the thaigs as expected. Dwarven King Bhelen sent a request for additional men to aid the Legion of the Dead. He wishes to supplement their numbers in an attempt to push farther into the known darkspawn grounds. The request for aid comes in the terms of fifty men or more, adept at close-quarters tunnel fighting if possible.”

“Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?” Alistair responded optimistically. “If the darkspawn haven’t retreated to their homelands as expected after the Blight, perhaps we are closer to eradicating the darkspawn than we hoped.” Ser Hastria regarded him coolly. Just because they hadn’t returned underground didn’t mean they were gone either, but she knew well enough stay quiet. Alistair however did not seem to notice her irritation and instead turned his attention to his advisor. “How many available men do we have presently?”

Eamon scanned one of the reports he been consulting. “There are approximately eight hundred able men we can call on. But at least three hundred have already been promised to the guards dedicated to restoring Denerim and another hundred have been sent to aid the Dalish clans in their relocation.”

“We have less than a thousand able men left here in Denerim? What about the surrounding arlings?” The king and queen looked shocked. The city had held more than ten thousand souls before the war; could they really have all perished? The destruction they had witnessed firsthand had begun to feel like remnants of a terrible nightmare, troubling but distant and hazy to their recollection. After months of fighting for survival in one horrific battle after another, both Breynna and Alistair had come to assume that if they weren’t under constant attack then things must be at least alright in the world. 

Eamon’s reminder of Fereldan’s dire situation brought back a surge of the fear, the shock, and the loss they had endured and tried to forget. The death of the Archdemon should have been enough; it was harrowing but they had fought the fight and won, and as a result things should _be better_.  But as Eamon’s expression remained grim these thoughts withered into the realm of wishful thinking.

“Aye, my lord. The countryside has been hardest hit and many of our towns became slaughterhouses for the creatures, particularly in the less defended lands.” What he meant was, the areas not directly surrounding the major cities, but did not say just that. “Those men that remain work night and day just to restore the land to a livable status. And the women tend to the hospices overflowing with victims.”

Alistair considered this. “Advisor, have we received word from the Banns regarding tolls on their specific holdings?”

“No, Sire. Chaos still reigns in much of the land and response to our inquiries has been limited. We have sent out scouts, but it could be…”

Ser Hastria’s anger at their collective ignorance suddenly boiled over. _She_ was the one on the streets. _She _knew what was really happening out there. Unable to contain herself, she blurted out, “That is because the streets are like mortuaries! The roads are strewn with debris and rubble and half the buildings are in flame!” She composed herself again, but when she spoke a quiver of anger rose in her voice. “The noble classes had a bit more _warning_ of the impending attacks and most have relocated to the northern estates. They aren’t even present in their holdings, let alone know of what state they are in. But the commoners, your Majesty, they have nowhere to go. They are in dire straits indeed.”

Alistair looked pained by this news and Breynna took his hand. These realizations utterly dashed the air of optimism he had entertained. The depth of the impact on the country at large was evident in Hastria’s barely-contained rage. “Why wasn’t I told about any of this before?” He asked Eamon.

“I apologize, Sire.” Eamon responded. “I felt I could advise you sufficiently until we had an opportunity to sit down and fully review the reports I’ve received on the Blight’s aftermath. I would be happy to make time for that this afternoon.” He lifted a leather satchel and pulled out an impressive stack of bound parchments and scrolls. Alistair winced at the magnitude of the literature before him and Breynna squeezed his hand in vague comfort. Certainly she had earned the rest she had taken the last few days, but her heart grieved at the thought of the wracked Ferelden countryside illustrated in those reports.

“This afternoon,” Alistair said, frowning.  “Earlier -  over lunch. We've lost so much time already.”  Eamon nodded. Alistair cleared his throat, choosing to ignore the growing mountain of papers that Eamon _still_ drew from the satchel. If this was to truly be his kingdom, he needed to engage every aspect of it - even the unpleasant ones he had somewhat avoided, he thought, chagrined. 

Alistair turned his attention back to the Ranger. “Thank you, Ser Hastria. I promise I’ll be better informed in the future.  For now, send the fifty men to Bhelen. I have been having some rather unpleasant dreams about the darkspawn stirrings. The last thing we need are some nasty uninvited guests to show up for brunch.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the oppressively somber mood in the room. It didn’t quite work.

“As you wish,” she said, obviously not appreciating the humor. “The second report comes from the Ranger in Amaranthine. She sends word that the Orlesians have sent a dozen Grey Wardens from their Order to arrive within the fortnight. There will also be three Senior Officers that may induct new Wardens. As soon as the Keep is ready, the Orlesian order is willing to send more. “

Breynna breathed a sigh of relief at this news. Tensions with Orlais still ran high in some parts, but thankfully the Empress had responded well to their plea to help rebuild their order of Grey Wardens. Although Alistair was technically still the senior Warden between the two, his new duties as king usurped his duties to the Wardens and the job had fallen to Breynna. Not that she was necessarily against such a promotion, but she found that she did not want to leave just yet. She wanted a chance to call Denerim home before she had to journey north to prepare Vigil’s Keep. But it was an eventuality they both knew, and it would be better to prepare for that now while time was more or less in their favor.

“I would like to send some men ahead to Amaranthine,” Breynna said.  “I’d like to start preparations as soon as possible.” Alistair nodded and Eamon made notes on his tally sheet to make preparations for this request.

Ser Hastria continued on, rather impatiently. “And the third, the Ranger that has been tracking the apostate you wished to find. He sends word that he has sighted her.” Their attention snapped to Hastria and there was a defeaning silence in the room for a moment. They stared at her, eyes widened and perhaps even a little scared, before Alistair managed to speak again.

“He found… he actually saw the apostate?”

“Aye,” Ser Hastria continued. “His message states he has been gaining ground the last two days judging by the camp remains he’s found. This past day he caught sight of her in the rocky passes of the Frostback Mountains, just west of Gherlen's Pass.” Breynna exchanged glances with Alistair.

“Why wouldn’t she be more careful than to be tracked?” Breynna asked.

“Is the Ranger absolutely sure it is she?” Alistair asked over top of her.

Ser Hastria held up a black feather that pulsed with a faint blue light. It had accompanied the letter from the Ranger. She set it on the table in front of them. They stared in amazement at it and murmured in agreement. “It is she.”

“And she is headed west… to Orlais?”

“Or farther.”

“Or, into the Deep Roads.”

 There was silence as none of them wanted to consider this possibility further. As if on cue, the feather began to raise, the blue light shimmering around it. Breynna felt chilled, as if from far away Morrigan still chided her. Still found a way into her soul to unnerve and unsettle her. Alistair knocked the feather out of the air and crushed it to the table under his hand. “Call the Ranger back,” he said slowly and with authority.

“My lord?” Ser Hastria looked at him curiously. “When he is so close now?”

“I said, call him back!” He stated more vehemently and then went quiet, not looking at either woman. What he and Breynna knew but did not want to acknowledge was that this had been a warning. Morrigan had allowed herself to be tracked, to send this back. Neither of them wanted to know what would happen next if they continued their pursuit. As uncomfortable as they were with her at large, they felt that finding out would be far worse.

Ser Hastria nodded and bowed. “That is all for now, my liege.”

“Thank you,” Breynna said thoughtfully.

“Yes, thank you, Ser. Your Rangers have been most helpful as usual.”

Ser Hastria bowed politely and turned to leave.  She had one more report to deliver before her day was done, but for that she must be more cautious. It was not until she was well out of sight of the throne room and its guards that she turned off the path and double backed toward the castle dungeons.


	3. The Advisors' Council

Back in the throne room, Alistair sat down heavily in a chair at the large wooden table off to one side of the throne. Breynna stood next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Closing his eyes he leaned his head against her, enjoying her presence. Finally he looked up at her with a smile. “Are you as uncomfortable as I am in these fancy robes?”

She chuckled. “More so I think. Less than five pounds of material in this dress and I feel more encumbered than with my thirty pounds of plate metal.”

“At least we’re not covered in darkspawn blood for once.” He smiled slyly and put an arm around her, drawing her close. “You know… if you’re uncomfortable, I could, ah, help you out of that dress…”

She giggled at the impish grin he sported and kissed him. “Oh I’m sure you could!”

Advisor Eamon cleared his throat to alert the two of his presence; their fun would have to wait.  He joined them at the table and conversation once again turned to the plight of their country. Placing the satchel he had gone to retrieve on the table, he began pulling out more papers.

“There’s _more_?!” Alistair groaned.

Breynna lifted one of the letters from Hastria in front of her face to hide her laughter. Reading over it though, the smile dissipated into a look of concern.  “I find the situation with the darkspawn distressing.”

“As do I,” Alistair agreed.

Eamon shuffled through some reports before him. “We’ve sent scouts from Denerim southwest toward Dragon’s Peak, due west toward West Hill, and a few southwest into the outskirts of the Brecillian Forest. From all the reports we’ve received the remaining darkspawn do not seem to pose a serious threat. The scouts have encountered some small bands of roving darkspawn, but little else.”

“Do they seem to be moving in a general direction or to a certain area?” Breynna asked. “Perhaps they are regrouping.”

“There doesn’t appear to be any evidence of that. In fact, this information seems to indicate a general lack of purpose in the darkspawn. One scout even writes,” he looked for the appropriate section of the document. “Ah yes. He writes that there is, ‘Mass confusion among the darkspawn in this area. Some wander aimlessly while some do not move at all. They offer little or no resistance to our attacks. We have even witnessed darkspawn attacking each other within their own ranks.’ ”

“That is… most bizarre.” Alistair murmured.

“Well, Warden Riordan did say that without the archdemon, the ranks of darkspawn would collapse.” Breynna suggested. “Perhaps this is continued fallout?”

Eamon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That is one possibility. Still, I’d think the dwarves would know better than anyone how darkspawn typically react to the end of a Blight.  And if they are concerned, then so am I.”

***

  
Breynna walked down the long corridor looking with interest at the portraits hung on the walls. On one side there was a great lineage of kings stretching back to Calenhad the Great. On the other were notable names – the greatest war heroes, the most trusted advisors, the most powerful enchanters. These were the names that shaped the Ferelden she knew and loved. She found it strange to think that one day her portrait would join these in immortality.

She hadn’t chosen to be a hero, not initially anyways. She had been recruited out of necessity by Duncan to escape death at the hands of Arl Howe. That action set in motion a chain of events that metamorphosed her life from one of privileged but quiet nobility into that of a war-ravaged hero. How many others of these champions had similar stories, she wondered. How many people willfully choose greatness compared to those who have it thrown into their lap and must decide in a heartbeat what to do with it?  Perhaps greatness was not a latent trait in a person but rather a name given for the poise and the courage to act as one must in any given moment of need.

She stopped in front of the portrait of Loghain. In the painted picture he was solemn but not hostile and cross like all the times she had met him in person. There was a golden plaque underneath that read, ‘Loghain Mac Tir – The Hero of River Dane’ and beneath that a quote, “A man is made by the quality of his enemies.”  

She looked at him and realized for the first time that he must have been quite handsome once with his jet black hair, fine muscles and stunning blue eyes. _Those eyes_. They had the power to inspire allies as well as instill great fear and they stayed with her long after she had continued walking again. He had been one of their greatest adversaries, and yet, she couldn’t deny that she felt a measure of pity for him too. She wondered what had happened throughout his life that caused him to develop the cynicism and resentment that eventually led to his madness. Maybe it was no more than the course of life itself. Maybe one no more chooses to be a villain than they do to be a hero.

Near the end of the hall was the enchanters’ study. It was a large, open, circular room with a golden pillar statue in the middle and massive bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling all along the walls. Walking up to the doorway she found Wynne sitting at a desk, paging through a weighty tome.

“My, but you do look charming in such a lovely gown.” Wynne said, greeting Breynna without looking up. And then, “Are you going to come in or do you want to stand in the doorway a while longer?”

Breynna laughed and walked over to the table. She sat down next to the older woman. “It’s good to see you, Wynne. I see the quiet hasn’t changed you much.”

“Quiet?” Wynne chuckled. “May I remind you that I lived in the Mages’ Tower for more years than I care to count? I could hear myself breathing most of the time in there. This is rather pleasant in comparison.” 

Breynna smiled. _Good old Wynne_. “Do you like it here? You don’t miss being out on the road with all the action?”

“I like it well enough for now. There are theories about magic and schools of disciplines in these books even I have not seen before. And the complete lack of templars breathing down my neck here will make it much more enjoyable to learn.” Her eyes shone and Breynna was glad she had decided to stay on as an advisor at the castle.

“There are magic studies you don’t know about?”

“Well, of course. One person can only know so much in life. Even if I had spent all my life with my nose in a book, I still couldn’t know all there is about the schools of magic and the Fade they originate from.” Breynna had been fingering the old tome and breezed through a couple pages. It all looked like a foreign language to her. No wonder the Chantry was afraid of mages. People are always afraid of what they didn’t understand, and she doubted they knew much of what these words and symbols meant.

“Do you think magic could be the reason the darkspawn are acting so strangely?” Breynna asked.

“Strange in what way?”

Breynna shrugged, still looking at the book. “Well, everyone expected the darkspawn to return to the Deep Roads when the army disbanded. Without the archdemon to guide them, we assumed they would revert back to the way they existed for the last centuries.”

Wynne looked concerned. “And that hasn’t happened?”

“Not yet anyways. The reports from Orzammar say they’ve yet to see an increase in darkspawn numbers in the strongholds closest to the city. The populations down there could actually still be declining.”

“And what makes you believe that this is somehow related to magic?” Wynne asked pointedly, making her recoil a bit.

Breynna hastily dismissed her own question, unsure of why Wynne had taken offense. “Well, nothing really, I was just curious if it was possible.”

“Anything is possible,” Wynne replied.

Breynna considered the link between darkspawn and magic. Not all of them possessed magic of course, but they had encountered a number of emissaries who had. While none stood out in her mind as being particularly dangerous on their own, a band of them could wreck havoc on a party in no time. And of course, that was when the mages had used magic that Breynna’s team could recognize and protect themselves against. Who knew what could happen if the darkspawn happened to discover a school of magic humans were unfamiliar with and used it against them? The idea made her shudder.

“I apologize, dear.” Wynne spoke, bringing her back from daydreaming. “I guess I still get resentful of the blame they put on mages whenever something unnatural occurs. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. What are you thinking about? What’s really on your mind?”

“Well,” Breynna hesitated, but she wanted to be reassured that her speculations were just that. “If there’s all this magic out there no one knows about, what if the darkspawn discover it first? What if they use it against us? Or use it to make their own ranks more powerful?”

Wynne held up her hands to stop Breynna’s rambling, half smiling. “Now my dear, there is no reason to get worked up over possibilities. The darkspawn have used magic from the first. The Chantry tells that the first darkspawn _were_ _mages_ that overstepped their bounds and were punished by the Maker. But in all the years since we have battled the darkspawn, we haven’t encountered any magic we couldn’t combat or control with the right training.”

“But it’s out there, you said.”

“_Could be,_” Wynne corrected. She put an arm around Breynna and gave her a friendly half-hug. “But even if they do, I have little doubt that we would be able to adapt and find a way to combat their new knowledge. It’s the way it has been for centuries. Or, if all else fails, a sword through the middle is still a good strategy.”

Breynna smiled, but her unease lingered. She had a feeling that everything they thought they knew about the darkspawn had been irreversibly turned on its side.


	4. A Wolf Among Sheep

It was midmorning the following day when Auralee entered the lively Denerim marketplace. Despite the rubble on the ground and the damage to the local buildings, she found the recovery rate of the area rather remarkable. Certainly better than the villages in the countryside that had been completely decimated in the wake of the recent battles. Then again, she supposed, it was probably easier to relocate and rebuild when most of these merchants were based out of traveling wagons and caravans. It was good to see trade flourishing again at any rate.

“Fire-roasted pork and beef chops!” one merchant called.

“Fine Dwarven crafts!” another bellowed.

Auralee smiled. She looked for the dainty Orlesian lady she remembered in the central marketplace. Before the war, she had sold beautiful silks and aromatic perfumes. This was what Auralee had been sent to find. But as she strolled between the stands and browsed the various merchants’ goods, she saw no sign of this lady or any other vendors like her. 

She pulled the hood of her cloak a little tighter against her before moving on. While she was not technically forbidden to go about the city, she found that people tended to have two reactions upon seeing she was an elf; they pointedly ignored her to reiterate the fact that she had no standing in their society, or they ordered her about as if she were everybody’s personal servant.  Either way, she preferred to blend in as much as possible to avoid the elven distinction entirely.

“Excuse me, ser,” she asked, using her best imitation of Breynna’s mannerisms. “I am looking for some perfume. Are there any merchants here that sell such wares?”

The kindly older merchant rubbed his chin and thought. “No, ma’am, I don’t believe I’ve seen any recently.”

“There was a woman here before the war. I believe she sold some.”

“Oh, yes. I remember Liselle. Haven’t seen her ‘round these parts since before the creatures came. Actually, I think she said she was returning to the Nevarra or Orlais or whenever in the Maker’s land she came from.” Auralee must’ve looked disappointed at this news because the merchant’s look became distressed.

“Ah, come now, come now. I do hate to see a lady sad. Say, there’s a shop just across the city river. It’s called Dragons and Anvils, and they have all kinds of fashionable imports from far off corners of Thedas. Maybe they’d have your perfumes?”

Auralee smiled at him graciously. “You are too kind, ser. Thank you indeed.” Before leaving, she looked over some of the wares set upon his cart. She happened to see a striking blue crystal vase and stopper, thin and not much larger than her hand. She thought it an excellent perfume bottle so she asked its price.

“Twenty silvers, but for you my lady, I’ll make it fifteen.”

Auralee nodded and handed him a sovereign coin. “Why thank you kindly.”

He reached down to his coin purse and he began counting out change. “It’s good quality crystal too, I got it….” He stopped in midsentence because as he looked up to hand her the coins, he found that she had disappeared into the crowd of those passing by.

  


***

She found the Dragons and Anvils quite easily in fact although she had not crossed over into this part of Denerim for quite a long while. Just as the merchant said, it had been filled with knick-knacks and treasures from countries far and wide. She had purchased two kinds of perfume for Breynna along with an amulet and a small red runestone necklace.

She had just left the shop when something caught her attention – a man’s shouting off in the distance. There was sunlight still in the evening, so Auralee ventured off in the direction of the noise to investigate, her curiosity overriding her distrust of this part of town. She followed the noise until she reached the mouth of a back alley, crowded with people. They were listening attentively to a man perched on a row of wooden crates so he could be seen and heard over the gathering.

“My fellow citizens of Denerim,” he called to them. “I ask again, are you tired of this darkspawn menace? Are you tired of our farmland crops withering under darkspawn rot?” A cheer rose after each of the speaker’s rhetorical questions. “Are you tired of paying rich merchants outrageous prices for things you urgently need?” The cheer resounded again. Auralee turned to go, dismissing it as one of the errant rabble-rousers that roamed the streets. They went about preaching that the end was near to anyone who listened and preyed upon fear to proffer coin that would feed their own stomachs. Unfortunately, there were plenty of those sorts these days in the aftermath of the Blight. But just as she was about to walk away he said something that made her stop in her tracks.

“Are you tired of Loghain’s murderer going free? A usurper sitting on your country’s throne in place of your beloved and rightful queen?” The cheer that followed this statement was even louder than before and it chilled her. Turning back, she was more intent on examining the speaker now. She peered over the shoulders and in between heads to try to get a clearer look but could not. She could only see a wisp of white hair in front of his eyes, poking out from under a brown hooded cloak. The crowd around him pulsed with life in contrast to the expertly subdued way he addressed them. They seemed to hang on his every word. 

“They sit in the lap of luxury while you starve on the streets. Is that right? They open the doors to the alienage and expect you to open your arms to these filthy street elves just because they say so! Is that right?” Auralee frowned with discomfort as the crowd’s cheer became more rambunctious and feverous than before. From one side a man shouted that all the elves should be removed from the city. Agreement circulated throughout the crowd with additional jeers and insults about the elves thrown. She pulled her hair around her ears and tightened her hood again, fearful of discovery amidst this fanaticism.

“Excuse me,” she asked a lady standing nearby, as innocently and calmly as she could. “Who is this speaker who calls out our city’s leaders and incites these folks nearly into riots?” The lady looked at her skeptically and shrugged.

“They call him the White Wolf,” she said with a mixture of mystery and awe. “He claims to have witnessed Teyrn Loghain’s blood spilled with his very eyes. He says the Maker called to him at that very moment and bade him to fight against the traitors who seek to take their own control over Ferelden.”

“And all these people believe him? They are his followers?”

“You ask as if you’ve never seen them before!” And upon realizing that Auralee had not, the lady narrowed her eyes suspiciously before answering the question. “This is but one meeting in one alley. The Resistance spreads much farther than one man.” Auralee stood silent, the corners of her mouth turned down. The woman mistook this concern for disagreement though and became incredulous.“Do you doubt that what he says is true? Look around and see what’s happening around you! As soon as the Teyrn lay dead they threw our rightful queen into the prisons!” Her voice dropped to a whisper and her eyes brimmed with resentment. “They say these Grey Wardens came from Orlais. It is only a matter of time before they lead those treacherous fiends back into our throne room. You’ll see.”

“But what about the Blight?” Auralee remained cautious. “Wasn’t it the Grey Wardens that saved us in the wake of total annihilation? We owe them for the fact that we even have a city to reside in.”

The lady frowned. “And what a city it has become! If I were you, I wouldn’t let your loyalties to our current king be heard too loudly in this crowd.” She motioned with her head to the zealous crowd in front of her. They were cheering and pushing ever closer to their hooded speaker with a prophet-like adoration. “With their houses gone, their bellies mostly empty, and their entire lives in disarray, I doubt they would be very receptive to your view of the situation.”

“I see,” Auralee frowned slightly. “Thank you ma’am.”

Auralee turned to leave. The woman reached out and put a hand on Auralee’s shoulder, stopping her retreat. When she looked back, the woman seemed more sympathetic toward her. She spoke softly, head inclined away from the rest of the crowd. “Listen, I don’t doubt that without ‘em we might all be face down in a sodding field right now. But that fact doesn’t make their swords any more righteous than the sentinels’ that took away our right to rule ourselves thirty years ago either.”

“So… you’re saying this is all an elaborate plot by the Orlesians to regain the Ferelden throne?” Auralee reiterated.

“How can you be sure it’s not?” The lady retorted, nodding. “The way I see it, this whole Blight was a mighty convenient excuse for them to retake possession of the land through these Wardens’ hands.”

***

  
“There is a Resistance movement? Right here in Denerim?” Breynna said. She knew that there was dissent over the new leadership of the country, but she had no idea that there was an organized movement already leading towards revolution. How quickly they forget from where their salvation came, she thought unhappily.

“Aye, I saw it with my own eyes.”

Auralee watched her for several minutes while Breynna thought this over. “They have grown bold indeed if they hold gatherings in the open air of the city within earshot of the king’s own guardsmen.”

Auralee stood wringing her hands, looking hesitant to deliver more bad news to her. “I believe that they… might agree with the speaker, my lady.” Breynna raised an eyebrow questioningly. “I saw two of the city patrols pass by without even questioning the gathering.”

Breynna’s heart sank. Silently she cursed her Fereldens’ stubborn and resilient nature. It was so like their people to mount a rebellion directly after a major world incident. In fact, it actually made sense; attack before they could get a stronghold on the kingdom and its resources. It was an excellent plan except for one thing: she, Alistair and their followers were actually trying to help their people rebuild. She frowned. Maybe they really didn’t know that their intention was to help, she thought. Sure, there had been a big celebration after the archdemon died and people had welcomed her with open arms. But after that? She had disappeared into herself – a luxury that they didn’t have. A modicum of guilt squirmed through her.

“Auralee, were you able to discover any indications of how large this group is? How deep do these leanings run?”

“I do not know, my lady. What I observed was but one rally in one small part of town. The woman I spoke with though indicated that its roots run deeper than what can be seen in the streets. But the rumors they spoke of – the details of Loghain’s death, your rise to power with Alistair, these are things that the common folk do not know of. To have the information they possessed, I can only assume that they have ties with the human nobility. That is, if the resistance leaders themselves were not present at the time of the Landsmeet.”

Breynna sighed audibly. Then she spoke, thinking aloud, “We need to know how deep this conspiracy goes first if we are to combat it.” Her eyes softened with inspiration and a smile crept into her soft features. One brow arched as she turned and looked at Auralee with sly understanding. “What we need is someone on the inside.”

Auralee was taken aback. “Why, you… you mean me? Surely there is another… well, better I mean…” she tried to compose herself, obviously torn between duty and anxiety. Remembering herself again, she took a deep breath and kneeled, bowing her head humbly as she did so. “Forgive me, my lady. If it is your command, I shall obey.”

“Auralee, stand up,” Breynna said regarding her. Auralee did as commanded and stood demurely, waiting. “I have only known you a short time, but you have become dear to me. You are observant and wise, more so than any…” She almost said _servant_ before correcting herself, tiptoeing around the word instead. “…Anyone in your position that I have ever known. I think you would be an excellent choice for such a task.”

“As for them…” Breynna moved to the far wall and motioned out the window overlooking the Denerim Commons.

“I do not blame them for distrusting us. Maker knows they have suffered through enough upheavals to turn their world upside down many times over. They are afraid and fear makes people do strange things. To save them though, we must look past our own fear. We must be more than who we are.”

Auralee nodded. “Such is the life of those who serve others’ needs.”

Breynna motioned out the window with her hand, “Those people out there. Whether they know it or not, we have a sworn duty to protect them; their fate, and the country’s fate, lies in the choices we make. They may not like those choices; they may well fight against it – fight against us – every step of the way. Regardless, we must persevere. We must protect them even if that means protecting from themselves.”

“Aye, my lady,” was all she said.

Breynna now turned away from the window and saw Auralee watching her with wide, serious eyes, waiting for the point to her soliloquy. “This is exactly why I need your help, Auralee.”

“I have made a commitment to serve you in any way I can.”

Breynna looked at her and shook her head, “Auralee, this is no ordinary task. I give you the option to decline if you wish for I realize that this is a dangerous thing that I ask of you.”

Auralee knelt before her. “Your Ladyship, I am but an elf. One bound to serving my Queen without reserve. Whatever you ask, I shall follow to its completion, or die trying.” Her words came honestly and effortlessly. _Or die trying_, she had said, as if this was an expected and acceptable outcome. Breynna found this utter devotion and patriotism deeply moving, particularly coming from one that life had not dealt an enviable hand. Breynna’s own inner strength wavered slightly in the face of such tenacity. How could she even entertain the idea of sending her faithful maid on a mission of unknown danger and deception? She was just another in a long line of brave souls who had followed Breynna without question throughout the Blight. The price of their sacrifices now weighed heavy on her soul.

Auralee watched her with patient, knowing eyes. “Do not be sad, Lady Breynna. You ask nothing more than what you must. These are hard times to live in, and a hero’s life is hardest of all. Maybe I can offer you some small relief from that burden. If I can do so, I gladly will. Now, tell me of your plan.”

 “Thank you, Auralee. I can’t describe how fortunate I am to have you.” Breynna smiled with genuine thankfulness and took the woman’s hand. She had a moment’s pause where Breynna looked as though she wanted to embrace her, or somehow demonstrate how thankful she was in a more intimate way. Auralee looked confused at this display though so Breynna withdrew. Instead she began to explain the task she had in mind.


	5. Into The Night

Breynna wandered down the hall toward Wynne’s library. She needed to talk to someone who could help her make sense of the jumbled thoughts running through her mind. At the time, her idea to send Auralee undercover had seemed sound. But now, in retrospect, it felt rasher and more dangerous than she had intended. She had not even consulted anyone else on the matter and now her guilt made her second-guess everything she felt before.

It hadn’t been like this on the road. She felt confident and in command when she gave orders out there, even when the odds were against her. But they were facing a new enemy now, one that couldn’t necessarily be tamed by swords, and she felt completely out of her element. The politics of proper society and the delicate balance of power was an art she had never been taught. She thought back and corrected herself: it was a skill they had tried to teach her about in Highever but that she had been too impatient to master.

She sighed and looked around the study. Wynne’s books and papers were still lying on the table giving the impression that she would be back shortly. It wasn’t like her to leave things in disarray if she would be gone long. Breynna decided to amuse herself until Wynne returned; it wasn’t like she had anything better to do with her day. Being a figurehead may be an important job, but so far it seemed more like a tedious chore than anything.

It was the rows and rows of books on the shelves that interested her. She had never been particularly academic growing up, but her curiosity piqued upon seeing all of the leathery old tomes and archaic title texts lined up in rows. She scanned the bindings for something of interest. Most of them were magic studies and old philosophies like Wynne had mentioned, but there was also a thick white book amongst them simply entitled ‘Weisshaupt’. She pulled this text off the shelf. Weisshaupt was the name of the fortress in Anderfels that was headquarters to the Wardens; maybe this book held some of the answers she had about her order and their history. Maybe it could tell her something about being a Warden-Commander since she felt completely lost about that facet of her new responsibilities as well.

“Hey Wynne, about that recipe for…” Alistair said rounding the corner and into the room. He stopped in the doorway when he saw Breynna sitting at Wynne’s table. “Why, Wynne, you are looking so young and beautiful today. What do you say we step out into the courtyard together for a few minutes?” He arched his eyebrows up suggestively as he walked over to join her at the table.

“Don’t let your wife hear you talking that way,” Breynna chuckled.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I think she’ll understand.”

“A history of the Wardens,” she said, motioning to the book before her. “I think.”

He looked pleasantly surprised. “Is there a chapter that mentions what to do if you accidentally/on-purpose release an Old God into the unsuspecting world?”

“If only we were that lucky.” She looked at him and then away. “Speaking of being lucky, or unlucky rather, I have some more troubling news. Have you heard anything about a Resistance here in Denerim?”

Alistair frowned. taken aback by the abruptness of the question. “I… yes. Well, sort of. Eamon mentioned that there might be trouble brewing among some citizens. We’ve posted additional guards in the personal quarters and the castle perimeters as a precaution.”

“Auralee came across a rally in the marketplace earlier.”

Alistair made an uncomfortable noise in response. Clearly, he had not been informed of the level of organization the Resistance had developed. Breynna filled him in on the details she knew and together they discussed the known facets of the movement. Yes, this felt better, this felt _right_, Breynna thought. Together they began to strategize a plan to combat it.

“I tend to agree with you,” Alistair said, rubbing his chin. “Reconnaissance work is dangerous but necessary. If we act too rashly or harshly to their demonstrations we risk a city-wide revolt. We must be cautious not to stir the masses to their cause. And stirring – yes, stirring would be bad.”

She murmured in agreement. “Know thy enemy,” Breynna said.

“And know thyself.” He finished for her.

_Maker help them._

  
***

  
Auralee drew the cloak tighter to protect her from the chilled air. She had donned the worn traveling clothes of a kitchen servant for this excursion and sorely missed her serving dress. Though not fancy, it was well-crafted and made of solid material that protected her from the elements much more than this flimsy cloth. She felt a pang of sadness for her brethren that would consider even this clothing she wore to be a luxury and redoubled her efforts to be content.

As she walked in the evening chill, the charm of the hushed city came over her. The winding of the streets, the cobblestone paths, the shady characters waiting in the shadows to relieve a traveler of his hard earned silvers…. It reminded her of the days when she was young and had roamed free within these walls. She knew just where to walk to end up at the door of the The Pearl. Blight or no, the one industry that could always be counted on for rambunctious activity and juicy gossip were the taverns.

On the surface, her mission was simple: to be the eyes and ears of the castle on the street. Breynna and Alistair were too high profile to go. Everyone knew who Breynna – the Hero of Ferelden – was, even in her cloak and traveling clothes. And although Alistair had once or twice left the castle inconspicuously to sample the local eateries he loved, he could not go anywhere without an escort and attracting a rather handsome following of commoners along his way. But Auralee was unknown outside the castle walls and she had proved trustworthy enough for the task.

It helped Auralee’s cover that Alistair had opened the gates of the alienage and allowed elves free passage throughout the city. There were many elves now filtering through the city trying to acclimate to their new surroundings or just buying a pint at the local tavern. Under the cover of these circumstances, she could blend in easily enough. However, it was not without its dangers. As she had seen throughout the city, an ever-present threat of violence lingered in the air – a keg of powder waiting for its spark. She hoped she would not run into such troubles, but Breynna had given her a fine silverite dagger, just in case.

She scanned the tables as she walked in and saw one near the back where two other elves sat, half in shadows, taking long quaffs from ceramic mugs. One was tall and had fine, chiseled features, and delicate tattoos on his cheeks and forehead that flared out towards his hair. The other was stouter, with piercing black hair and a furrowed brow. She noticed, as she got closer, that he had a number of scars on his face and neck. Two of the smaller ones were on his cheekbone, just under his right eye, that gave him the odd semblance of a casteless dwarf. She walked up and greeted them in her elven tongue.

 “_Aneth ara_,” one answered back warily.

“Come to share in your newfound hardships disguised as liberties?” the other asked her.

“Somewhat, yes,” she replied, and sat down at the table when neither had objected. She knew that she had to be careful. If they came from the alienage, they would recognize that she was not one of their own, so she recited the story Breynna had created for her. “My name’s Auralee, from Amaranthine. When Howe’s estate was granted to the Grey Wardens, his indentured elves were granted passage here to Denerim. I came because I heard a rumor that free elves could make a living here, now that the ban has been lifted.”

The elves nodded, but still did not adjust their wary looks. Finally one spoke, looking down at his drink. “There are no laws that prohibit our movement anymore, that much is true, but if you’re looking for freedom, you’ll find none here.” The moment seemed to drag on indefinitely until the other elf spoke, a friendlier smile on his face.

“Daz, why don’t you look for some manners in that mug a yours?” He motioned to Auralee to take a chair. “Sit yourself and have a drink with us. Sounds like you’ve had a long trip. Sanga, bring us another round!” And with that, Auralee was in.

“Well now, you’ve told us about yourself, we best do the same. My name’s Valthorn and this here’s Daz.” He motioned toward his companion who continued drinking his ale gruffly. “He doesn’t talk much on account of when he does open his mouth he’s a complete halla’s ass.” Daz looked at his friend pointedly.

“Look, I just speak the truth,” he said. “Not my fault that no one wants to see what’s going on around ‘em.”

“Just drink ya ale, Daz.” Valthorn said playfully, winking at Auralee. “Harder to get yourself in trouble that way.”

Auralee laughed and picked up her mug. She allowed her vigilance to relax slightly, to feel the welcome spirit these two were granting her, and to allow herself to enjoy it. It had been so long since she had just enjoyed an ale, sitting by a crackling fire in a bustling bar of travelers. She smiled, and her heart began to lose some of its heaviness as she drank deeply from the mug.

  
***__

  
Alistair stood on a hillcrest, overlooking a small valley crowded with darkspawn. They moved and swayed with a sort of rhythmic chanting. At the head of the crowd there was a dark mass, vaguely human shaped, but sinister and foreboding. Too large to be a human and yet… He willed himself a better look and indeed it was a person. Was.

_As he watched, the figure grew and swelled, its features clouded by a dark wet rot and its flesh began to drop away. Its appendages stretched and twisted at odd angles, growing into something primal and bizarre. Before it could fully take shape into something… else, there was a scream, a fracture, and the body tore in two. From its corpse raised the head of a malevolent dragon, then a body, then two massive wings that unfurled and beat the air around it. It climbed, unbelievably large, out of the discarded remains and flew screeching into the air above._

_Alistair screamed then, in horror or in pain, and slowly the eyes of the massive horde turned to him. He was there, exposed and unprotected. He tried to move but found that he could not. The darkspawn did not pursue him, rather they parted in half in a great united shift. From their ranks crawled a swarm of monstrous, malformed insects. They crawled along the ground, unending, gorging on everything in their path._

_He was defenseless, rooted in place, and could not move or even cry aloud as the tentacles and shifting legs of the insects came upon him. They crawled over him and around him, blocking the sky and everything he knew. They were all-consuming; conquering and devouring everything in their path._

 

Alistair sat up stark in bed, panting. He took a number of quick deep breaths and felt his heart pounding in his chest. He had had the nightmare again. Every night it came to him and every night it became clearer, more terrifyingly real to him. He covered his face with his hands and willed himself to calm down. He was safe in his castle, warm in his bed. Breynna stirred next to him, another reminder that this was the world of his reality not the abstract terror of his nightmares.

But he remained shaky, unconvinced. He hadn’t had dreams this agonizingly real since right after his Joining. And even then, it had been different. He had only seen into their world then; now he felt as if he was _part of_ that world. He was there in the dream with them, suffering the consequences of their corruption.

Alistair reluctantly settled himself back down onto his pillow. He lay there in the darkness, thinking, not wanting to sleep again. Why was he the only one having these dreams? And why were they taking the form they did? He knew without needing to ask that Breynna was not having these nightmares like he was – at the very least, not as severely as he was. And if Breynna wasn’t having them, it must be due to something that set him apart from her. He was too young to be consumed by the taint already, so the only other possibility was… He shuddered in spite of himself.

Morrigan.

He cursed himself again for ever agreeing to her plan. He felt a tightening around his heart as the imagery of his dream came back to him. In a way, he did feel a part of himself was with them now –  his part in the baby they had created. He was, in actuality, part of the corruption now. He felt sick and stumbled out of bed. He needed a drink of water. He needed a hot shower. He needed to have died with the archdemon.

Breynna awoke groggily at his stumbling in the room. He tried to assure her that he was ok, that she should go back to sleep. He feared the trepidation in his voice would give him away but she did not pursue him farther. Only after he was sure that she had drifted off again he went in search of something to quiet his aching mind. He had a feeling that tonight, like the nights before this one, sleep would still be a long way off.


	6. The Rangers' Allegiance

It had taken only a few nights for Auralee to gain the elves’ confidence. She had assumed that their general disdain of strangers would make the task harder to accomplish. But the truth of the matter was that, different as they all were, they all embodied some of the same ancestral spirit. Together they stood a little taller against the forces that threatened to keep them forever impoverished.

Auralee began to look forward to these nights. She liked to tell them stories her mother had passed onto her from long ago. Valthorn would whisper Dalish poems to them in the shadows, beautiful and foreign. And Daz would make up ever more outlandish tales about that time he was cornered in an alley, back to the wall against eight humans and only his daggers for protection.

They were sitting at their table, drinking and laughing when Auralee began to question them about their customs. How had they come to this tavern? How did the two elves first meet? Had they been banned from sections of the town even though they hadn’t lived in the alienage? Her questions began slowly at first and then bubbled out of her one over another. She had barely paused for a breath, when Sanga brought over another round of mugs for them, winking at her.

“My, you sure do ask a lot of questions. Good luck getting information out of these two!” She laughed as she dropped off the drinks and sauntered away. Auralee noticed the smirk on Valthorn’s face and forgot her previous questions as her attention turned to this latest puzzle.

“Well, you seem to be on good terms with the proprietor at least.” Valthorn and Daz exchanged a look. “She keeps your mugs full for half the coin,” Auralee pointed out. She wondered if they thought she hadn’t noticed the preference they received.

Daz laughed slyly. “Yea, ol’ Sanga knows who greases her wheels.”

“Excuse me?”

“She knows who she can go to if her clientele want some spice. Or if she wants some _personal_ time with…”

"Daz!” Valthorn glared at his friend. “Uh, well, see Sanga and I go back a ways. Back to when I first came to Denerim. We were, are… business associates.” Daz clucked with amusement as Valthorn continued turning a lovely shade of red. Auralee regarded them both curiously.

She was cut off from probing this further as a small entourage noisily entered the tavern and caught her attention instead. Auralee turned to look out of curiosity but almost immediately turned away again, hoping not to be noticed. It was Ser Hastria and two of her rangers. Whether or not she would recognize Auralee as Breynna’s attendant she couldn't tell, but felt uneasy nonetheless.  In Hastria’s line of work, noticing all of her surroundings was imperative to survival.

Auralee thought she had seen one ranger motion towards her table and her breath caught in her throat. Her discomfort abated somewhat a moment later when a man called Hastria’s name and diverted her attention to a table at the far end of the room. The rest of her band of rangers sat at a table with fellows they recognized and started hollering for drinks. They flashed their daggers and bows in case the point that they were potentially dangerous had been missed by anyone in the establishment. Daz scoffed at the display and Valthorn grumbled, “Good for nothing vermin, always trying to cause a stir.”

“You know them?” Auralee asked.

Valthorn only shrugged. “Only as part of the Resistance. But they’re always coming in here, yammering on about revolution and causing trouble while we are trying desperately to get drunk enough to forget they are here.”

Her mind began buzzing with a dozen questions. _Ser Hastria? In the Resistance?_ “What do you mean?” she wondered aloud, hoping that she had just stumbled onto the first piece of the larger puzzle she had been sent to discover. Her elven friends’ eyes grew wide then and she became aware of a presence behind her. The low reverberation of a drawstring tightening registered slowly in her mind.

“Don’t move,” the voice growled from behind her. “Or I’ll teach you lousy elves to respect those who have real power in this city.” They did as they were commanded. In Daz's eyes Auralee could see he was considering just how quickly he could overtake the ranger from where he sat. “But you mongrels just happen to be in luck. I just decided my arrow is worth more in my quiver than in your skull. Hand over twenty silvers and I’ll let you live.”

Valthorn looked contemptuously at the ranger and, while it looked like he reached for his coin purse, his hand closed in on his pouch of poison dust instead in order to create a diversion. At the table across the way, the other Rangers were roaring with laughter.

“No, Val, I’ll pay it.” He cocked his head, questioning, but Auralee was resolute. She had money from Breynna and this wasn’t worth her or new her friends getting killed over. She reached in for two ten-silver pieces and held them up for the ranger.  For Breynna’s sake, she needed to maintain her cover to better gather the information she seeked. She would give in, as much as it grated on her to submit to this rancorous display. Auralee hadn’t used a dagger in twenty years, but even her fingers had lingered over the hilt when she had reached for the money.

The ranger, satisfied, took the money back to his table and loudly announced that they were ordering another round – courtesy of the elves in the corner. Another round of laughter rose from their ranks. A moment later and the bar was back to its rambunctious, jovial environment again, as if nothing had ever happened.

None of the three elves moved, their eyes collectively watching the ease with which everyone around them accepted the racist display. Auralee felt the anger surging in her and she fought to suppress it. Was the law really so lax that the rangers could do such a thing without repercussion? She watched with a growing horror, realizing that the rangers were actually being rewarded for such ugly actions becauset no one else felt compelled to intervene. Finally, Valthorn stood up and threw a few silver coins onto the table to pay for his share of the drinks. “I don’t have the stomach for anymore tonight, comrades.” And, wrapping his cloak around him, he left.

  
***

  
“It’s ok, Auralee, go ahead.” She stood in front of Breynna, Alistair, and their closest advisors to explain what she had discovered out in the streets. “I’ve already shared with them what you’ve been doing to gain intelligence for us.”

 “Aye, my lady.”

Auralee relayed the information she had gathered from the elves and the tavern keepers. The motion had begun of the Banns that had pledged allegiance to Loghain during the last Landsmeet. Believing their council had been forcibly controlled and disgraced, they had rallied their freeholders into action. They spread the word throughout their lands that Alistair had taken control by force, not by collective vote. In death, Loghain’s status had been elevated to martyr, propagated by the Banns who were not eager to relinquish the political favor they had curried through him. The echoes of the citizens’ outrage at the dutiful sacrifice of their hero had simmered beneath the surface while the darkspawn pressed in on them. But now that particular threat was less imminent and their thoughts had once again turned to revolt.

“I feared it would come to this,” Advisor Eamon murmured. “I had faith in you and Alistair and hoped the country would too, in time. The rapidity with which this faction grows is distressing indeed.”

Breynna frowned and glanced toward Alistair, but he seemed far away, deep in thought. They had both fervently wished for some peace after all the war they had experienced, but with the civil disruptions and the darkspawn resiliency that was a more distant prospect by the day.

Finally he spoke. “What I would like to know is what role Ser Hastria has in all of this. You say you saw her with others of the movement?”

“Yes, your Majesty. She and her rangers are recognized members of the Resistance and carry messages between the outlying Banns.”

“And all this time I believed them when they swore fealty to me! She has been entrusted with my confidences from the first and now she uses them against me!” Alistair’s temper flared and then settled into anguish. He looked away and frowned, shaking his head. “I am a fool. I am no king if half my land wants to lock me in some dungeon and throw away the key.”

Then, to Breynna he said, “Remind me why I didn’t let the Archdemon snap me up when it had the chance? I could have saved us all a lot of trouble.” She scowled a little at his melodramatics.

Wynne stepped up and interjected, “May I remind your Highness, that when Maric overthrew the Orlesians, it was because the usurper ignored the winds of change in the land? Perhaps you can learn from him. You could attempt to educate them, try to win them over rather than resorting to simply crushing them where they stand.”

Alistair considered this. “As usual Wynne, you are wise and completely correct.”

“Oh Alistair,” she teased him lightly. “You will make those kinds of compliments go to my head.”

“I do try.” He grinned.

“Is there a way to do this without specifically pointing to the Resistance?” Breynna asked.

“Of course,” Wynne replied. “Address the most pressing needs of the people. Show them you care about what happens to them specifically, not just the fate of the country at large.”

Auralee chimed in, “They’re hungry.” She tried not to be resentful of the looks of curiosity that came over the nobles.

“Well, that we can certainly help with that,” Alistair nodded. “In preparing for the worst during the war, I believe the kitchen staff stockpiled all the available provisions they could get their hands on. The larder looks as if they are building their own wing of the castle out of surplus grain bags and barrels of wine.” There were murmurs of assent among those present and the details of this were discussed with some happy debate.

“I would like to participate too,” Breynna said. “I want to be out among the people again.”

Eamon looked at her with concern, evidently disapproving of what could be seen as an unnecessary danger to her. Alistair noticed this but also felt the ripples of yearning and a need to be useful again from the woman beside him. He cleared his throat. “I think that would be a good idea,” he said backing Breynna. “Of all people, I think the citizens would be receptive to their appointed Hero as the city’s noble benefactress.” She squeezed his hand in gratitude.

With Alistair’s support, the advisors accepted this new development. They made plans also to include Shianni, an outspoken elf from the alienage, and Edwina the proprietor from the Gnawed Noble Tavern, if these two wished. They had hopes that this could be the beginning of a new collective allegiance in Denerim: one where human and elf, noble and commoner could learn to live together – if not in harmony, at least not in direct opposition to one another. Change must be born of small progressive steps.

Eamon gathered his papers and offered his hand to Wynne. “Come, my lady. There is much planning to do, but we can discuss this further after we’ve had a good night’s rest.” And then to Breynna and Alistair, “Is there anything else you wish of me before I take my leave, your Majesty?”

“Unfortunately, yes, there is one more matter to discuss - Ser Hastria.”

“Shall I give the word to bring her here for questioning?”

“No,” said Alistair, “that would raise suspicions about how much we know. I would prefer to seem completely ignorant about the presence of the Resistance for now. I trust that seeming ignorant won’t be too far of a stretch for their imaginations.”

Breynna couldn’t help smiling at his jest. “Perhaps we can have her followed instead?” she ventured.

“Yes,” he replied. “That is exactly what I thought. We have some very capable rogues in the duelist ranks that could handle that request.”

Eamon nodded. “One in particular, sire, has a formidable reputation for such reconnaissance work. They call him Shadow; they say he is as elusive as the night breeze. If anyone were able to trail Hastria effectively, I’m sure it would be he.”

Alistair looked pleased. “Excellent. Advisor Eamon, will you speak to the Guard and arrange this? I want a full report of where she goes and who she speaks with, but he is not to intercede against their activities unless there is mortal danger to someone in this room.”

“It shall be done.” He rose, stretching out his arm to Wynne. “My lady?” She almost giggled as she took it. “We shall return with final preparations for the marketplace venture. And, as always, you may call if I am needed before then. Your Majesties.” He bowed and left, Wynne by his side.


	7. A Calculated Gamble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is flagged for a graphic death scene.** A summary is provided at the end for anyone who cares to skip the second scene in this chapter.

Fergus squinted in the bright morning sun. He and his men had been patrolling for the better part of two weeks and hadn’t run across any more darkspawn than could be considered a passing menace. He supposed he should be grateful for that and yet he remained disappointed. He had to live up to his bigger-than-life Cousland name after all. While simple patrols and thatching villager’s roofs might be necessary for the rebuilding effort, it certainly lacked the glory of the crusader that he yearned for.

He squinted again, seeing movement on the horizon and strained to make out the fuzzy shape. As it approached, he began to distinguish a horse and its rider. Soon enough he could see Ser Rilen abroad his pretty bay mare, but an odd feeling settled in his stomach. They were galloping full tilt towards the rest of the party, something none of them had done in this expedition. Something was terribly wrong.

Rilen pulled his mare up just short of Fergus. There was a wild look in his eyes that further unsettled him. “Teyrn Cousland,” he saluted. “Report from the scouts.”

“Did you find something?” Fergus asked attentively.

He nodded. “A whole horde of darkspawn, straight ahead.”

Fergus’s eyes widened at the news. Maybe he would get his glorious battle after all. “How many?”

“That I don’t know ser. We could only get as close as the nearest tree cover. They were marching, at least fifty or sixty, maybe more. They were moving quickly - almost dead to the north.”

“Marching? Remaining ranks of their army?”

Rilen shrugged. “Perhaps, but they didn’t seem organized enough for an army rank. It looked more like a migration from what I saw. There was one in particular that struck me as their leader. He held a banner and a great horn. Every once and awhile he would sound it, and the horn reverberated across the land. I think it was… calling others, ser - calling them to follow.”

Fergus nodded grimly. If they were calling their remaining brethren to an advancing contingent, there was little doubt then they were regrouping. _The darkspawn must be planning for another attack, but for when? How many were there that remained?_

Fergus looked about him. He had five knights and two dozen patrol soldiers. Even at Rilen’s more conservative estimate of the group they would face the odds at two to one, though it was likely higher. Risky, to be sure, but as he looked around at his men he knew they weren’t green boys right out of sword training. Most were veteran fighters and almost all had recently served on the front lines against the darkspawn.

Besides the strength of his own forces to consider, there was also the very real question of whether or not they could seek reinforcement before an assault was necessary. The castle was a good day’s ride if not longer. It could be days before they could arrive, and if the darkspawn were moving as quickly as Rilen said, the trail could be lost by then. It was the Maker’s will that his men had stumbled across the pack, Fergus thought, so it was his duty now to pursue them.

He turned to his men who were watching and waiting for his command. Fergus gave them the order to move out, double pace. He wanted to meet up with the scouts first and then attack the darkspawn from behind. It may not have been the most adept tactical plan created, but it would serve its purpose. At the very least, they would be able to put a dent in these reinforcements, if that was truly what they were.

  
***

  
Later that afternoon, Fergus and his men approached the tree covering the scouts were hidden at. He held up his hands and addressed the men, allowing them to break for a rest. They didn’t have to be told twice, sitting down and rustling in their rucksacks for food. Fergus’ stomach growled as well, but he wanted to go up ahead with Rilen to get their account of the darkspawn they’d seen.

The two walked through the rows of trees, calling to the scouts but received no reply. That uneasy feeling returned to Fergus’s stomach. Surely they were close enough to hear the calls, why did they remain silent? The two proceeded on more quietly now, wary of a possible ambush lurking in the cover.

“They were right around here when I left,” Ser Rilen explained, shrugging. “Maybe they continued following the band?” It went without saying however that both thought this unlikely. The queasiness in his stomach grew as Fergus became aware of a sick, sweet odor in the air.  A few steps farther into the brush and he saw evidence of what they had come to fear. He had stepped into a thick red pool of blood, languid and congealing on the mossy wooded floor.

They did not need to speak, silently following the pooling blood ahead a few more paces. On the far side of the next large tree they found the scouts. One lay on top of a large rock, a number of crude, dark arrows protruding from his chest; the other grotesquely pinned upon the tree trunk by two crude swords impaled completely through the scout’s chest.

For a few moments, neither Fergus nor Rilen spoke as they contemplated the grisly scene. Death was a common enough occurrence, but this – this was barbaric. “We should do something with the bodies,” Rilen croaked. “We can’t just leave them like this.”

Fergus nodded. They had no spades or tools to dig with, but there were plenty of rocks and brush underfoot to amass a makeshift grave for the remains. Rilen gathered and placed the rocks in a circle while Fergus tended to the bodies. He cut the shafts of the arrows and closed the scout’s eyes. Then he gently lowered the other scout from the tree. After laying the bodies in the circle of stones, they covered them with what leaves and brushwood they could find, weighing the branches down with additional stones. Ser Rilen said a few words on their behalf; it was the least they could do for their fallen comrades.

_May you rest in the gaze of the Maker, reside with Him by His side evermore, and find peace all the days of eternity. And in time, we will join you comrades, in the Light of His glory, forever and ever._

  
***

  
In the bustle of the bar, and amidst the laughter and stories they shared, the hours blurred together in an enjoyable haze. At some point each night, Daz would push away from the table and shakily get to his feet. The collection of mugs he had collected around him each night always amazed Auralee. She often wondered if he shouldn’t have been born a dwarf for all the ale he could put away.

He groggily pulled a handful of coin out of his pouch and dropped it on the table. “Val, if you can count whatever’s there; you’re a better man than me. Just make up the rest.” He grinned from ear to ear and bowed to them, swaying on his feet. “I bid you goodnight,” he said with a flourish and belched loudly.

“A more sober one, at any rate.” Valthorn chuckled as his friend wobbled toward the door.

Auralee giggled. “I’m surprised he doesn’t fall onto his own daggers getting home.”

“Oh, there’s still time.” Val smiled and yawned. The crowd in the tavern began to thin for the night. His bed was calling to him, but he enjoyed these couple minutes alone with Auralee before they parted ways.

_I’ve come to care about you_, Valthorn thought while watching his friend. His hand brushed against hers causing his heart to jump a little. Her eyes widened and he felt his courage fading. There was too much holding him back, things she wouldn’t understand – things he hardly understood himself. And yet… there was that look in her eye. Something he was sure was akin to his own sense of reservation and, in its own strange way, that was encouraging. The bravado she thrilled in his heart made him want to try. More than anyone he had known recently, he felt that – for her – he would try.

“Sanga took me in,” he blurted out.  
   
Auralee looked at him in surprise. She cocked her head in interest and waited but he didn’t offer anything more. He just looked down into his mug like the words he looked for were written on the bottom. “What’s that?” she finally asked.

“I… I wanted to tell you my story.” He looked nervous, searching for approval written on her face. “If you wanted to hear it, that is.”

“Go ahead, Val. I do.”

He took a deep breath. “I was young, maybe ten or twelve at the time my Mother and I left the forrest. She never told me why we had been exiled. Regardless, she thought I would have a better life in the city than if we were to wander alone in the Wilds. She hadn’t expected to come down with an illness though, and leave me an orphan.”

Auralee put her hand on his shoulder. She sensed the pain in his voice and didn’t understand exactly why he wanted to confide this to her. She felt grateful though and offered what little comfort she could in exchange for the story. “Where did you go?”

“Oh I managed.” He smiled a little. “I begged in the streets when I could. I found that sometimes the shops would dump their leftovers or spoiled foods into the sewer out back. That’s actually where Sanga found me.”

“In the sewers?”

“Well, kind of. She came back out one night found me huddled over some chicken scraps for leftover meat. She took me in that night and gave me a bowl of soup to eat and a bed to sleep in. In exchange for help with the daily chores, I always had enough food to fill my stomach and a bed to sleep in. For a couple years, I had a pretty good life.”

Auralee glanced over to the counter where Sanga stood, wiping down the founts and counters, oblivious to his story. She had noticed the kindly way that Sanga acted towards Valthorn, but had never suspected that she had taken such a vital role in his life. “For a couple years? So you eventually left?” Valthorn was silent for a few moments. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s ok. I wouldn’t have started if I didn’t want to tell you everything.” He looked sad and shook his head. “I don’t know why, but I _wanted_ to tell you. I like you. I… I trust you.” The irony of his words cut her deeply. Here he was, telling her these intimate details of his life and she had only ever given him lies in return. She had a sudden urge to confess everything; to tell him who she was and why she had lied to him. But the weight of her lies seemed insurmountable at this point. Instead, she pushed back her unease and let him continue.

“One night Sanga came to me with a proposition. She said there were travelers who were looking for a more _diverse_ selection of young men to choose from.” Valthorn was quick to add, “I didn’t like the idea at first. But I had nothing – I was an orphan elf and homeless to boot. What did I have to lose? Plus…” Auralee followed his stare over to where Sanga swept the floor oblivious to their conversation.

“Like I said, I was young, and she took care of me. She saved me from whatever fate I would’ve found on the streets. I would’ve done anything for her.” Auralee bit her lip, looking at Valthorn, unsure of what to say.

He swirled the last of his drink around in the mug and tipped it back, swallowing it all. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He searched her face for clues as to whether her opinion of him had changed dramatically but none was forthcoming.

“I think…” She weighed her words. “I think that we all do what we must.”

He nodded smiling. “_Ma serannas_,” he said, leaning over and placing a friendly kiss on her forehead. “What about you? Do you have any fabulously risqué tales of intrigue in your past?”

Auralee laughed. “No, definitely not. I have led a quiet life.” Her smile turned down and faded away. “I have been a servant for as long as I can remember. My family was before me. I do not think there was any doubt that I would be as they were.”

Valthorn took one of her hands in his and squeezed it. He smiled at her but she looked down, away from him. Her eyes settled onto his hand that held hers. It was dark, tanned, but his fingers were long and fine, what her father would have called “craftsman’s hands”. Dust had settled into every crack and crevice where the elements had roughed the skin. She ran a thumb down into his palm and along his fingers to open them, running over cuts that were slowly healing and the knotted roughness of various calluses. Her own hands had none of these things and she had never felt the distinction so sharp and so clear in her mind as she did in that moment.

“There are worse ways to spend a life,” she said. “I have been fairly treated and never gone hungry or unclothed. I feel useful and skilled at what I do.” Then, “I am content.”

Valthorn watched her closely. He let her hand fall and ran it instead through his hair, tilting his head in thought. “You say that like it is the best we elves can hope for.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

Valthorn shrugged. “My mother believed in something – a reason for bringing me here. I would like to believe that she was right, and that someday I’ll find it.”

“I hope you do, as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Scene 2 Summary:** Fergus leads his men to the covering the scouts sighted the darkspawn at. However, upon venturing into the brush with Ser Rilen, Fergus discovers that the scouts have been found and killed by the band of darkspawn. The two men give the bodies a makeshift burial and say a prayer for the dead.


	8. The Darkspawn Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is flagged for graphic violence.** There is a summary provided at the end for any readers who wish to skip this chapter.

Ser Rilen’s mare pawed the ground nervously. The tension was high in the air around them on the rocky outcropping where the knights waited. The events of the day up to now seemed jumbled in a blur of disbelief for him. The sun had rose just like the days before, but before this one set they had discovered darkspawn, found two of their own brutally murdered and were now crouched on the precipice of battle.

He thought back to how he and Fergus had returned to their troops this afternoon and ordered them immediately to set out, nary a sliver of explanation for the soldiers. It hadn't been necessary though; the men had intuitively read the grim findings in the set of their faces and did not hesistate. Fergus had not even bothered to clean his boots or gloves of the gore they had encountered, leaving it instead as a memory to them all of the scouts’ sacrifice. They had all found it a chilling reminder of why they were here and what fate they all could easily find at the hands of these creatures they sought.

That had only been a few short hours ago. Now, Rilen stood on this hill, waiting and watching the horizon for movement. He had led the mounted knights as they galloped ahead of Fergus’s men and caught up to the advancing darkspawn. The knights had been able to cut off the darkspawn’s progression before they reached the North Road just as Fergus had intended.

They were within sight of the darkspawn below them, but if they knew the knights were there the horde made no indication. Tensions were high on that hill, the knights set in position and ready to charge but there was no sign of Fergus’s troops from the south. Rilen waited with his men, more impatient by the minute, for now the night drew in on them. Rilen feared it would be full dark before they saw their reinforcements. It would be a tense, long night on the ridge if the attack should need to wait until the morning. Could it wait? He wondered. The pack of darkspawn did not seem to need to rest for sleep or eat like men did. Perhaps the morning would break and his forces would be too late in their attack anyway.

Just at that moment, he saw the glitter of metal on the horizon line that he looked for. It was Teyrn Fergus aboard his horse proudly displaying the King’s Guard banner. As they approached, Rilen raised his arm and ordered the knights to charge. They hurried down the rocky hill breaking into a gallop as they hit level ground.

Within minutes they broke into the ranks of surprised and screeching darkspawn. The knights barreled full throttle into the group, knocking the darkspawn and their weapons aside like ragdolls, pummeling them under the thundering hooves. The rampaging knights had the desired effect, breaking apart and separating the large group into smaller, easier to handle pockets. They created an utter mass of confusion and between the crashing hooves and slicing blades brought death upon faster than an army of foot soldiers could have done even with five times the number of men.

Ser Rilen had his eyes on one of the large ogres of the group and charged him with his mare. Suddenly his horse shrieked and reared as a massive hurlock leaped and drove his greatsword into the mare’s flank. The imbalance and inertia sent Rilen tumbling to the ground. He barely shifted himself far enough away to avoid her hooves as she landed again. Another sword lodged into her chest and the mare collapsed to the ground, shrieking in pain. Ser Rilen had no time to contemplate or grieve for her for just as quickly, the monsters were upon him. He blocked an incoming strike with his own sword and pushed up with all his might. He knocked that creature off balance and righted himself. Another blow and he pushed the darkspawn back as it fell onto another. He leaped on top of them and drove his sword expertly through, skewering both of them simultaneously.

All around him he could hear the thundering strikes of steel on steel, the breaking of wooden shields, and agonizing shrieks of pain. There were a pair of horses crying out as they died, and the thought flashed in his mind that one was probably his own beloved mare. This thought renewed his effort and drove him into a berserking fury. Mindless of the exertion, he swept his sword in a great arc, slashing into the darkspawn around him and knocking them to the ground. He sidestepped an incoming blow and drew his sword up in a great swing shearing the genlock in two. A mad spray of ichor coated him, but he hardly took notice. He battled another of its kind already, and more were on their way toward him.

His eyes looked up with murderous energy as he heard the charging calls of Fergus and the foot soldiers nearby.  He drove into another mass of darkspawn moving toward the call and they readily fell to his blade.

***

  
The battle had been even more victorious than Fergus could have hoped for. His men had utterly destroyed the group with bloodthirsty precision and the ground on which they fought was now riddled with darkspawn corpses. He wiped a mixture of blood, sweat and ichor from his forehead before it could drip down into his eyes. He was filthy and physically drained but he was also full of a victorious pride. He combed through the battlefield, looking for any survivors and removing his fallen men’s corpses for burial. Here and there, a darkspawn fighter still moved, groaning with an unholy fire in its eyes that still resisted being extinguished. He brought his sword down on it, ending its miserable life once and for all.

When fully satisfied with the rout and its remains, he returned to the provisional camp they had erected. The surviving men sat around the fire washing and bandaging their wounds. All said he had only lost about half of his men defeating the darkspawn in the pack. Moreover, they had captured the leader, if that’s what he was, alive.

Fergus walked over to where the darkspawn leader sat, tied to a tree. He wore leather armor adorned with needle-like bone fragments and webbed cording. His eyes had an unearthly light to them which unsettled Fergus. Ser Rilen came over and saluted him. “He didn’t resist.”

Fergus nodded. “The darkspawn were all following him then?”

“I believe so, Ser. He had no weapons, but we confiscated this.” Rilen handed Fergus a weighty brass horn the leader had held, the means by which they had gathered their members. “They were definitely regrouping, Ser. Most likely, they would have attacked one of the larger farm holds ahead had we not intervened.”

“We were not attacking,” a voice from behind them spoke. “I called our brethren to warn them; to save them from being slaughtered by your hands and blades.”

Fergus, Rilen, and the other knights whirled on their heels to look at the darkspawn, mouths agape. Had it actually spoken to them? This was a trick - it had to be. But the darkspawn leader stared at them with an unnerving, placid gaze. Fergus blinked slowly, his mind reeling. “You… you spoke!”

The darkspawn made a low growling noise in its throat that almost seemed like a laugh. “And so do you, human.”

“How?” Fergus demanded sharply. “How can you speak?”

Again, there was the throaty chuckle in response. “That I do not know, but you seem equally capable. How do _you_ speak?” If Fergus had ever known Morrigan, he may have been reminded of her now in the quick-witted and hostile retorts of the darkspawn. But he did not and this spared him an unsettling mental connection between their opposing ranks.

The knights unsheathed their swords and took a step ominously toward the darkspawn. Though he was unarmed and bound, they treated him more like a rabid dog, wild and unpredictable, than a prisoner. Their fears urging them on, they encircled it and bared their blades as if to strike it down at once. Fergus willed himself to maintain control of the situation and leveled his voice before speaking again.

“We have never heard of or encountered a darkspawn that could speak to us. How do I know this is not a trick? Tell me who you are.”

The darkspawn regarded him again. “And what would I gain by tricking you? You assaulted us. You killed us. As for my name, I have none, but you may call me The Speaker if you wish. This is what separated me from my brethren that you have massacred. As for my purpose, I have already told you. I needed to gather the remaining members of my clan back home.”

Fergus narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at him. “Home? You’re going nearly the opposite direction of Orzammar.”

The Speaker looked exasperated. “No, _home_,” he accentuated as if the meaning should be clear. “Home to the Mother.”

Fergus shuddered reflexively and again his mind whirled. What did all this mean? The darkspawn had extended their control beyond the scope of the deep roads? Wasn’t that area expansive and unexplored as it was? Could they really stretch underneath all of Thedas as some sources claimed? Ser Rilen put a hand on his arm and he snapped back to reality. Rilen motioned with his head to join him aside. Fergus commanded the other knights to watch the Speaker, as if such a command was necessary.

“Teyrn,” Ser Rilen spoke softly. “If what this darkspawn says is true, this implicates a much vaster area of occupation than we ever knew of. We need to report this back at once.”

Fergus nodded grimly. “We should take this one alive if we can.”

 “Do you think that’s wise, Ser? We don’t know anything about this one or what powers he might possess.” Ser Rilen looked troubled, but Fergus dismissed it.

“It’s worth the chance. We may be able to get information about this ‘Mother’ from him and the further plans of the horde.”

“You’d best listen to your comrade. You don’t know what I’m capable of.” Fergus’ blood ran cold from the taunt and wheeled around to face the Speaker again. His face flushed with anger at the intrusion of his private conference, yet the Speaker maintained his cool demeanor.

“Why should I fear you? You did not resist capture, and you speak to us civilly. And besides, what choice do I have? I cannot release you and let you scamper home to your _Mother_ to report what news you’ve found out about _us_.” The Speaker grimaced at the blasphemous way Fergus had spoken the Mother’s name.

“Stupid human.” He growl-laughed. “You know as little about our world as I do about yours. Just because I am capable of your speech doesn’t mean I require it to communicate. I speak to my brethren through a collective conscious. We all do. What I know, they know, at the moment that I know it.”

“You were leading them.” Fergus pointed out hurriedly, frustrated by the darkspawn’s logic. “You were calling more to you. Couldn’t they have found their way without you if they knew where to go already?”

“Of course they do,” The Speaker explained. “I was leading them because, as you may recall, we were being hunted. We moved as a group for survival, not because they did not know the way. Even now, the Mother calls them to her in a way I cannot and they obey. With or without me, they will go.”

Fergus did not respond to this, lost in his own world of irritated confusion. “You have an answer for everything it seems. Well, you know how to speak and yet they cannot. Explain that.”

“I cannot.” The Speaker said plainly. “Nor do I particularly feel the urge to obey your commands. But, for the sake of the argument, perhaps they know how and choose not to. Or, myaybe humans and darkspawn are not as distinct as you would like to believe.”

“That can’t be true!” Fergus bellowed, losing his patience with the darkspawn’s sing-song taunting. He drew his sword and bounded the few paces to where the Speaker sat. Its eyes watching - staring at him - as he rammed the sword down into the darkspawn’s chest full to the hilt. It made no sound as it died; it just looked up at Fergus with those unearthly calm eyes. Fergus shuddered again and turned away feeling as though death itself was not enough to free him from the darkspawn’s disturbing gaze. His knights looked on seeming rather pale.

Fergus bit down on the inside of his mouth, irritation and regret billowing in his chest. “Move out,” he commanded to the knights. “We need to report this back to the castle.” As they shuffled off, Fergus turned back deciding whether or not to retrieve his sword. He took a step toward it before stopping. There was a dark bubbling puddle of ichor on the ground pooling under the darkspawn, still bound, now lifeless and eerie. Fergus felt a sickening repulsion in his stomach and left the sword buried in him. He would get a new one easily enough, if only he could forget the look of those eyes staring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Summary:** Ser Rilen and the mounted knights charged the darkspawn from the north while Fergus led the remaining men on foot from the south. Together, they handily defeated their enemy. After capturing the leader of the darkspawn, Fergus interrogated him only to find that he had a power that no one expected: he was able to speak. Through him, Fergus discovered about the existence of "the Mother" and that the remaining darkspawn were migrating north to join her. After relentless taunting by the leader, Fergus was provoked into killing him. He then decided they must return to warn the Wardens of this new development.


	9. Ser Hastria Revealed

“My lord,” Shadow bowed quickly. “I have urgent news.” Alistair nodded and the rogue continued. “I regret to inform you that your agent, Ser Hastria, has not been as forthcoming about her whereabouts as she would have you believe.”

“It’s true then,” Breynna murmured. She stood next to Alistair on his throne, her hand on his. They both watched Shadow intensely.

“While it is true that she visits her Rangers and gathers information about the tide of feelings across the land, I believe her allegiances stretch beyond that of the throne.”

Breynna and Alistair exchanged a troubled, if not surprised, glance.

Shadow continued hesitantly. He did so hate being the bearer of bad news. “For example, Ser Hastria made a point to converse with, and exchange messages with, one of your prisoners before leaving the castle grounds.”

Now the regents looked surprised. “A dungeon prisoner?” Breynna asked breathlessly.

“Anora,” Alistair said without looking at her, his jaw set with barely contained outrage. Shadow nodded.

“Under the pretenses of royal business, the guards did not trouble her. But if I may venture, based on her actions that followed, what they spoke of was not in your interests, my lord.”

Breynna’s brow deeply furrowed. “And what did they speak of?”

Shadow grimaced. “Unfortunately, that I cannot say. They were understandably discreet in the matter, but I did observe two letters that were passed between them. Anora read and wrote a response to each before giving them back to Ser Hastria. She concealed these within her cloak and I did not see them again until she arrived in the Bannorn.”

“The Bannorn?” Alistair asked.

Shadow nodded, continuing with his narrative. “She departed the castle immediately after her correspondence and headed west. She moved with such speed and subtlety, I am ashamed to say I had some difficulty is following her exactly. I did however catch up with her as she moved throughout the central territory. She delivered the first letter to a hovel on the northern outskirts of Lothering.”

“And you’re sure it was the same letter?” Breynna asked.

“Aye, my lady. At least it was extremely similar, but I maintain that it was the same that Anora read and responded to in the prison.”

“Following, she continued on towards the West Hill region and the new residence of Arl Wulff. I was unable to enter the estate but she spent the better part of a day within its walls. From my station outside the dining hall windows, I heard quite a bit of argument and raised voices. I take from their tone that the Arl doesn’t take kindly to debate, and your Ranger is a rather feisty one.”

Alistair sighed. “That she is.”

“Wait, Arl Wulff?” Breynna interjected, the shimmer of a memory dancing just out of her reach. “Wasn’t he…”

Alistair finished her comment. “Yes. He was one of the Banns who stood by Loghain during the Landsmeet.”

“Mmm, now I remember,” Breynna murmured. Arl Wulff had been particularly outspoken during the debates. He had lost most of his landholdings and his two sons to the outreaches of the Blight. She remembered most the vengeance in his eyes as they had raised Alistair to be the new ruler. She could see it now, burning brightly, as if the months had never passed then and now.

Alistair followed her course of thought and asked, “Didn’t Auralee say that the leader claimed to have been present during the Landsmeet?”

“Yes,” Breynna said thinking over this connection. “That’s what the people were saying. Do you think Arl Wulff _is_ the Resistance leader?”

Alistair shrugged. “It’s as possible as any other lead we have.”

Shadow stepped up, breaking their train of thoughts. “Perhaps your Majesty has further use of my services then?”

Alistair nodded. “Yes, but not for the Arl. We only have suspicions as yet, and we cannot afford to act solely on speculation." And then, "Tell me more about this correspondence you witnessed. Do you believe it is ongoing? Did Hastria return again with more letters for Anora?”

“I cannot say, my leige, as I was not present with her in the Arl’s residence.” Shadow responded. “But I can continue to monitor her action and travel if you wish.”

“Please,” Alistair said. “I would offer a handsome reward for the interception of such a letter.” 

“As you wish, my liege.”

“But Shadow?” He looked on expectantly. “Don’t let on that we sent you, if you can.”

“That is my specialty, your Majesty.” Shadow said, winking out of sight.

“Creepy.” Alistair looked at Breynna.

“Yes, I’m glad he’s on our side.”

Alistair rubbed his temples. “Meanwhile, what in the world do we do with Anora? I mean, besides sending her to the Maker, of course.”

“Al!”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding… kind of.”

Breynna gave him a _You’re-Not-Helping_ look. “She’s already in prison, what else can we do?”

“I’m going to go give her a piece of my mind for starters.” He said exasperated.

She clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

“Yea, no kidding.”

 

***

 

It was a good thing that there was a set of heavy iron bars separating Alistair and Anora down in the prison corridor. At this moment in time, Alistair had the raging look about him of wanting to strangle Anora where she stood. The stoic silence she maintained and the frosty glares she shot at him were driving him half-mad. Politics and implications be damned, he thought, the pleasure of it would be worth the punishment it brought.

“How could you do this Anora? I want answers!” She returned the haughty stares but said nothing. “Think about the people out there that are living and dying for your vengeance. How could you turn your back on the country you claimed to love so much? How could you stab me in the back like this?”

“Me?” Her cool exterior faltered as she suddenly flared with rage. “_You_ were the one who slaughtered my father in front of my eyes! _You_ have made a mockery of the throne, of all I have fought for the last five years.”

She continued, tossing her arms up in mock indignation. “And still you preach to _me_ about loyalty? May I remind _Your Highness_ that I was upfront with you from the beginning. I offered my support and services to you both without deception. _I’m_ not the one who promised their aid and then turned around and fed me to the wolves at the first chance she got!” Alistair cringed at this a little, knowing she was talking about Breynna. She had offered Anora her recommendation at the Landsmeet in exchange for Anora’s denouncing Loghain. And yet, when it came time to name a new leader, Breynna had publically sided with Alistair. It was unfair, he conceded privately, but what wasn't unfair about the spoils of war? Neither of them had trusted Anora enough to allow her permanent control of the throne. Not after the stunts she pulled and the roadblocks she had put up in their way.

Anora’s voice turned from anger to an ugly sneer. “You and your _Grey Wardens_ are mad with ambition – the same crime you executed my father for and imprison me for voicing opposition to. Why should I care what happens to you now? I care nothing for you or your _supposed justice_!” She spit on the floor and turned away from him.

Alistair’s face turned red with fury. “Anora! What we have done we have done for _Ferelden_, not for ourselves! You are aiding the Resistance… promoting anarchy in the land and in our streets! These actions… This, this is _treason_!”

Anora glanced over at him coolly. "From what I hear, there are a thousand or more of your "followers" who seem to believe the treason falls on your side of these bars, not mine."

Alistair gritted his teeth in rage. He hated her more by the moment - for the complete self-possession she displayed, for the control she maintained outside these walls, but most of all, for the strange realization that, in a way, she was _right_.

He banged his fist against the bars to get her attention. “We _saved_ this country, Anora! From the _brink of destruction_! Does that mean NOTHING to you?!”

She did not move or respond in the slightest. He threw up his arms and stomped away from the cage. He fumed for a moment and then yelled at the guards on duty. “Double the coverage here, and do not allow this prisoner _any contact_ with outsiders. Do you hear me? NO ONE!” The flustered soldiers saluted, trembling slightly at this display, before giving orders amongst themselves. Alistair gave an angry grunt and stormed off. Anora turned and watched him go with cold eyes.


	10. The Pearl Loses Its Shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is flagged for graphic violence and attempted rape.** There is a summary provided at the end for readers who wish to skip this chapter.

Auralee shifted nervously at the table. Valthorn and Daz were playfully arguing about something, but she paid little attention. She anxiously watched the room. Throughout the evening, men she had associated with the Resistance had been filtering in and crowding the tables all around her. This was unusual activity for the tavern and she didn't like it at all. 

A few tables over from where the elves sat, there were two men in particular that unnerved her. They sat at their table with their cloaks pulled up tight around their ears and, unlike the others around them, weren't eating or drinking anything. They were watching – waiting. They seemed to perk up as two gruff older men came in and barked at Sanga for drinks.

Auralee's eyes narrowed in concern. She leaned over and whispered to Valthorn, "Those are some of the Resistance folk, right? Why do they always have to be so loud and rude?"

Valthorn looked up and also squinted his eyes in dismay. "Yea, sure they are. Ya can always tell by the way they put on like they own the place. Think the whole town ought to curl up and lick their bootstraps for as high and mighty as they all act."

"Well, why shouldn't 'ey?" Daz interjected. "The guards are all in cahoots with them anyways, so they know they can do and say as they please. In the king's hands… in their hands… fa! We're all sure to be darkspawn fodder soon so it don't matter anyhow."

Valthorn sighed dramatically to Auralee as if to say, _you see what I always have to put up with_? Auralee chuckled. Those two went on like an old married couple and she found it endlessly amusing. But her amusement was short-lived for as she glanced over again she caught the gaze of one man staring rather intently at her. She turned quickly back to her friends, hoping to drop his scrutiny. But even as she sat there she could feel his eyes on her back.

She felt uneasy and tried to think of a reason to remove herself from their watch. She excused herself to the back room. After escaping the suffocating pressure of the room for a moment and splashing some water on her face she felt better. On her way back to the table, she grabbed two more mugs. Just before she reached the table, the gruff man stood up and blocked her path. "Going somewhere?"

She gasped a little, surprised at his sudden appearance in front of her. She tried to duck to the side and away from him, saying, "Please, Ser, I don't want any trouble."

One of his cronies materialized on the other side of her and pushed back on her shoulder, sending her off balance. She tripped over herself and fell to the ground, the mugs splashing and clattering to the ground around her.

One man laughed at the fallen elf. "What's wrong? Don't they teach you how to walk straight in the alienage?"

Auralee got to her knees and put her hands up in deference to them, reiterating that she only wished to be left alone. Valthorn attempted to come to Auralee's aid but he could not maneuver around the men who were intentionally blocking his path. He shot agitated glances towards Auralee as he tried to make out if she was ok.

Auralee got to her feet, trying desperately to remain calm enough to anticipate their actions.  She needed to escape and if she let her emotions get the better of her, she would be lost; she knew that. Keeping her hands up so they could see her, she started backing away, stepping around and putting a table between herself and the two men. Unfortunately for her, the tavern swarmed with people sympathetic to the Resistance and they were eager enough to take their frustrations out on a few hapless elves. She backed up right into two rangers, their eyes sparkling and wild grins on their faces.

"Lookee here what the cat dragged in boys," one cackled, grabbing Auralee by her shirt collar. "A _street rat_." Even as this one spoke, three more men - burly and ready for action - materialized behind him. Auralee shouted for Valthorn and Daz to help her, suddenly feeling everything around her spiraling out of control.

Daz leapt into action to make a diversion for them, but found himself vastly outnumbered. Before he could make a move a heavy mace thwacked him on the back of the head knocking him out cold. Valthorn unsheathed his daggers and rushed at the men. He caught two of them unaware enough to deal them decent injuries and they reeled backward. In a split second though more were upon him and their heavy hands closed down on his shoulders and arms. The men were all encompassing, holding Valthorn back and knocking the daggers out of his hands. He struggled against them, but they were tough and there were too many against him alone. 

Auralee cried out and jerked away from the grasp that held her, her collar ripping raggedly as she staggered forward. The men pressed in closer blocking her path and preventing any means of escape. She was surrounded and the pounding in her chest gave away her fear.

The rambunctious men quieted slightly when Dregan came over to observe this scene. He was a foreboding older man with a mean set to his eyes and jaws. He _tsked_ the actions of the other men and they parted, obviously deferring to him – one of their leaders. He looked down at the huddled, scared elf on the floor.

Dregan watched her, unfazed for a moment before reaching down and grabbing Auralee by the wrist. "I'll take care of this one." He began to pull her away from the group. She screamed and tried to resist but he was too strong for her. As she twisted against his pull, his hold on her wrist tightened and she found herself being dragged helplessly toward the door. Some of the men shouted and jeered at them, catcalling and hooting about their leaders' penchant for elven whores.

Auralee was faintly aware of the shouting around her, people who had started yelling at them to stop, that this was too much. But the pleas must have fallen on deaf ears as she was still being dragged against her will toward the door. In actuality, the entire barroom seemed to have erupted into a flurry of chaos and bout of yelling and fighting. Sanga, overwhelmed at the ensuing bedlam, was preoccupied, dealing with another violent squabble that had been evoked. She sent two of the barhands to fetch the local guard, fearing for her own life as much as the others involved in the midst of this melee.

  
***

  
Dregan's death grip on Auralee's wrist did not falter even as she thrashed and struggled against him. At the door, she had flailed and grabbed at the frame, but could not stop him from dragging her out into the street. She screamed again and kicked against him with all her might. A flurry of blows from Dregan's free hand hit her forearms and once squarely in her free shoulder making them ache. She barely felt the pain, her mind a whirl of fear instead.

_Why doesn't anyone come?_ Auralee thought desperately. A room full of people and no one tried to stop the rampaging man. _Is an elf's life really so insignificant?_

Suddenly she remembered the dagger Breynna had given her. She could barely reach to where it was tucked safely behind her apron because of being jostled around so much. The man threw her roughly to the ground against the tavern wall and stood towering over her. She pretended to cower under his might but as she doubled over, she she freed the dagger from the safety of her scabbard.

Dregan crouched down beside her, his breath hot and smelling of ale. He grabbed her chin and turned her face up to look at him. "Such a pretty face for a slave," he laughed. "It'd be a shame to kill you right away." Her eyes widened further with an understanding of his intent and she managed to shake away from his grasp. She scrambled backward as far as she could, but to no avail. She was cornered. He grinned at her, her fear inciting some vicious hunger in him.

He undid his belt buckle with a flick of a wrist and moved toward her again. He pushed her hard to the ground with his free hand, and she screamed again out of reflex. Holding down her chest, Dregan lowered himself to her as she struggled against his weight. In his greed, however, he failed to notice the hilt of her dagger protruding from her waistband or the way her hand closed upon it. When he was close enough that she could feel his disgusting breath on her face again she bared the dagger and slashed him with it.

The curve of her stroke was awkward but effective, cutting a long slice against his extended arm and catching his downturned chin. Had the cut been a couple inches farther into his neck, he would have bled to death right on top of her. He reeled back, crying out with a mixture of pain and fury, looking aghast at the ugly wound on his arm and the blood running down from it.

His face turned purple with rage and threw himself at the prone elf. She tried to retaliate with the knife again but his huge blocky fist punched her squarely in the ribs. It knocked the wind out of her and made her world flicker with stars for an instant. The dagger dropped out of her hands, forgotten in the sea of pain. Blood pooled in her mouth and the pain of breathing was almost overwhelming. She rolled defenselessly to her side as he continued to rain blows down on her.

"Hold, Ser."

There was a clattering of metal behind him that Dregan barely heard over his anger. He may well have killed Auralee had it not been for the timely arrival of the patrolmen. Dregan looked over his shoulder at them and saw two of the King's Guards in full armor and shining swords before him intently observing the scene. "We heard screaming," one said in a serious but not overtly condemning tone.

At that moment, Sanga appeared in the doorway. She breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the guards, but it was short lived as she saw Auralee huddled on the ground. "Guards, get this filth out of here," Sanga growled, then directly at Dregan, "And don't let me _ever_ catch you or your trash followers in my tavern again!"

The man pulled himself up maintaining his arrogance despite a mixture of blood and dirt caked on his fists and the lengths of his arms. "The only filth that's here," he retorted, "are the whores you permit to hole up in this worthless shack of yours." He glared at her and spit on the ground. "You might want to keep a tighter rein on them in the future or I _will_ be back to finish this."

"I said, get him out of here!" Sanga yelled.

The guards took him by the shoulders and began to lead him away. Dregan scoffed at the guards attempt to restrain him and brushed their hands away. "I can walk just fine," he snapped at them.

Sanga called into the tavern for the supplies she needed, then she stepped quickly over to Auralee and knelt beside her. The elf was badly injured, but Sanga felt a faint pulse and breath in her yet, encouraging her efforts to revive the elf.

The barmaid arrived with water, towels, and some poultices. Sanga deftly applied some immediate aid to Auralee's injuries before the two of them gingerly lifted the woman and carried her inside to a clean room and a fresh bed. The barmaid immediately began cleaning her wounds with a delicate touch. Sanga had seen to it that all the Pearl staff had become well versed in first aid; the need had become so much more prevalent in the last couple months. She only wished they didn't have quite so much opportunity to use these skills.

"What was their city coming to?" she wondered aloud. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Summary:** One night, when the Pearl was especially full of Resistance sympathizers, a group of the men decided to make trouble for the elves. They surrounded Auralee, taunting and assaulting her. Valthorn and Daz tried to come to her aid but were rendered helpless by other men. One of the Resistance leaders, Dregan, dragged Auralee outside for his own pleasure. Once there, Auralee fought back with the dagger Breynna gave her but Dregan ended with the upperhand, nearly killing Auralee outright. Saved by the timely arrival of a night watch, Dregan is removed from the tavern area. Sanga took Auralee inside to bandage her wounds and insisted on keeping her overnight to recover.


	11. Benevolence

The night following the Pearl incident was tense. Sanga had insisted that Auralee stay overnight at the very least as she continued to heal. Daz had teased her lightly saying that in all the years he knew her, she hadn’t ever offered him a room free of charge. Sanga countered that he had never been beaten within an inch of his life on her doorstep before either. Valthorn _humpfed_ just loud enough to shush them. His jaw was set with anxiety, irritated that they made light of the situation. He didn’t think his moping was particularly helpful either, but at least he wasn’t being so disrespectful. He left them in the hallway and entered the small room, almost collapsing into a chair by her bed.

Sanga stood in the doorway watching this. “You might want to be careful of that arm,” she told him, indicating the one she had bandaged and put in a sling for him. He didn’t answer and she thought he could definitely use some rest himself. Between his twisted arm, black eye, and various bruises he looked like a prizefighter that had seen one too many rounds. He seemed all but oblivious to his injuries though as he watched Auralee with a sad concern.

Sanga found Valthorn’s devotion touching as he kept watch by her bedside. Occasionally she had entered the room to refresh the poultices on her and found Valthorn dozing in the chair. At the sounds of footsteps approaching the bed, he woke again to check on her progress. Sanga tried to reassure him that Auralee would be just fine, and yet he stayed.  It was evident to both that Valthorn’s worry stretched beyond that of the casual, concerned friend he pretended to be. But there was also an unspoken understanding between these two and, for his sake, she left him to his private contemplation.

As the morning began to break, Valthorn roused himself from the chair. His mind was thick with fatigue and his heart ached at the thought of leaving Auralee's side. He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently before leaving. On his way out, he turned his head back once more to the woman in the bed and almost ran into Sanga as she stood int he doorway.

“You’re leaving?”

“Not by choice,” Valthorn said sadly. “But one must eat and to do that, one must work.”

Sanga nodded but remained thoughtful. “Why don’t you stay today?” She asked him, her hand softly grazing his arm. He swallowed and looked at her, trying to decipher her intent. “I can take care of you too, you know.”

He shook his head. “I… I can’t. You know that.” And when she looked hurt: “Sanga… listen…”

She shushed him; she didn’t need him to explain how complicated things were. Even when the past refused to stay in the past, it was always present in an intangible way, fluttering agonizingly out of reach. Better not to have to mentioned anything at all, she thought. Best to leave the ghosts of feelings undisturbed and unspoken.

Instead, she changed the subject. “Val, look –  she’s beginning to stir now. I think she’ll be ok.” It was true, Auralee murmured in her sleep and her eyelashes fluttered, almost waking. The relief in the room was almost palpable.

Sanga, sensing his weariness, caressed his check and spoke with tenderness. “Take care of yourself, Valthorn. I promise you, I will watch over her until she is well.”

“Thank you, Sanga.” Valthorn said, allowing himself to smile, “for everything.” She breathed in deeply and composed herself as he leaned down and briefly kissed her cheek. And then, in an instant, he was gone.

 

***

 

Wynne stepped into the dark tavern, cautiously scanning the backroom tables and chairs. It was late morning and the entire place was mostly vacant. She walked through the side hallway into the main dining room where she saw Sanga shining one of the counters. The woman had a weary expression on her face, but she tried to conceal it when she looked up and noticed Wynne.

“Something I can help you with, my lady?” she asked.

“Yes,” Wynne spoke, her voice calm and level. “I’m looking for my servant – an elven woman. She did not return last evening and I understand she comes here often.”

“Oh.” Sanga’s face dropped, her weariness replaced by unease. “My lady, I am so sorry. She is here. There was… an incident last night.” Sanga relayed the events of the previous night to Wynne, wary of censure for her actions. Wynne did not seem angry though. “I apologize for not sending word to you sooner, but she was not in any condition to give such information last night. Neither did the other elves know who her mistress was.”

Wynne nodded. “Will you take me to her?”

“Of course.” Sanga led her up the stairs to the room Auralee rested in. She was partially propped up on pillows, dozing lightly. At the women’s entrance, she turned her head.

“Wyn–“ she started in surprise, jerking her body harder than she meant to and grimacing at the pain.

“Careful, careful,” Wynne calmed her. She brushed a lock of hair out of Auralee’s face. As she did so, Wynne murmured a barely audible chant, healing energy radiating from her brushing fingertips into the broken woman.  Auralee instantly felt better, the magic beginning through her and renewing her from the inside.

Wynne turned to Sanga. “Who did this?” Then, “Why?”

Sanga frowned. “Troublesome brutes. Resident good-for-nothing Dregan and his men mostly. As for why…” her voice trailed off, troubled. “Your guess is as good as mine. Because they could, I suppose.”  There was an uncomfortable silence as this thought sank in.

“Would be so kind as to call for my carriage hands?” Wynne asked her. “They are waiting outside.”  Sanga bowed in acceptance of this request and left the room.

When they were alone in the room, Auralee ventured a weak smile. “I am so glad to see you, Wynne.”

“And I, you, my dear.” Wynne spread her hands over the elf and shimmering healing magic spread over her, easing her pain.

 

***

 

There was harsh ripping noise as Breynna’s blades sliced through the bound straw of the melee target dummy’s chest. Her face tightened with concentration as she pulled the swords together above her head and sliced a dual arc down creating two more jagged tears along the dummy’s torso. She had missed the feel of these swords in her hands and the exertions gave her a welcome release.

“Did that one look at you funny?” Alistair’s voice came from the doorway of the armory and Breynna whirled around to face him, her concentration broken. She felt strangely exposed, embarrassed, as if she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She cast her eyes down in irritation instead of responding.

Alistair picked up on this and partially regretted his intrusion. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to interrupt-” He began, but he _had_ meant to interrupt her. The truth was, he worried about her when she withdrew from everyone. And that was exactly what she was doing now, hiding away down here taking her frustrations out on the target dummies. There was a sad aura about her that he suspected ran deeper than the jarring of this particular incident. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said honestly.

“I’m fine.” The words came out in a derisive laugh, bitterer than she intended. “The better question is, how is Auralee?”

“Wynne says she’ll be alright,” he answered, walking over to her. “She still has a few broken bones and some deeper wounds that are healing. Magic can only go so far, you know, but she applied some healing kits from the castle apothecary to augment the spells. It will just take some rest.” Breynna’s expression radiated sorrow. She let her swords fall limply to her sides as Alistair pressed her to him and comforted her best that he could. “We couldn’t have known this would happen. People are unpredictable; you can’t hold yourself responsible for another’s actions.”

She broke free from his embrace. “But it _is_ my responsibility,” Breynna cried. “I was the one that put her in that situation. I should have known better. I did… I did know better and I ignored it. ”

“You said that you gave her a choice.”

Breynna shook her head resolutely. “Do you really think she saw it as a choice?” He didn’t respond to this and she sighed in the silence. What use was it now to agonize over her guilt? Her conscience gave her no rest either way. Despite all of the victories they had attained, large and small, throughout the Blight, it was always the moments of regret that stood out in her memory. The _could-have_s, and _should-have_s that loomed larger and brighter and bore into her soul. She looked miserably at Alistair, “Do they at least know who did it?”        

  


“I believe so, yes. Wynne said the innkeeper mentioned a band of men who frequent her tavern. They may even have connections with the Resistance itself. With any luck, we may be able to discern who this leader was - his name was Dregan, but that doesn't ring any bells with me, at least. But if we knew what influence he has over the various….” Alistair trailed off as he realized that Breynna was not actually listening to him, lost in her own thoughts instead. “And it’s me actually – I’m the Resistance leader. I figured since you were so intent that I would make a good king, I needed to sabotage myself from within to prove you wrong.”  

  





She turned her head towards him with the faintest smile and sighed good-naturedly. “Well, case closed then.”

He smiled back at her but waited patiently, not rushing or demanding anything from her. She laid her head against his chest again, accepting the comfort he offered. He tenderly thumbed a lock of hair out of her face.

“I didn’t know she’d get hurt. Not like that,” she said at last, quietly. “Maybe I didn’t want to know the hate for elves ran so deep. When you opened the gates of the alienage, you did it to make their lives better. But what did it really do? In the light of all this violence and the hate… it seems that only stoked the coals of hate brighter.”

“So what are we to do?” He asked gently. “Let them live in squalor forever without hope? I can’t do that. And I know you wouldn’t either. Men’s hearts may be hard to change, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth the undertaking. Besides, I think we've faced greater foes and somehow always ended up on top. I see no reason to stop now.”

She looked up at him curiously, a reassuring grin on his face and his eyes twinkling with a radiance all his own. He was right, of course – a rare moment of perception and eloquence. She had not been wrong about his ability to lead and inspire; now the trick was to convince everyone else in this country of the same thing.

In effect, his words stirred her beyond the comfort he had intended. He had inadvertently sparked something in her soul; something she had pushed down deep inside and almost forgotten about. But it was still there - that resiliency and that drive - and she had a sudden, almost overwhelming, urge to _move_. Get up and make something happen because she had been idle for far too long. And now that she had been reminded of it, she was not about to sit here in the castle another day feeling sorry for herself. She had not saved this country just to roll over and hand it to the first upstarts that crossed their path. 

“I’m done hiding,” she told him, feeling her resolution swelling in her chest. It felt good. “I can’t wait anymore while this Resistance goes unchecked. It’s time to start fighting back. I can and I will.”

Alistair nodded, a glimmer of pride evident in his approval. “We have no one better to lead than you, my dear.”

Breynna slid her swords into their sheaths satisfied and thrilled at the prospect. She had a strong body and two fine swords still and she intended to use them. Maker help her, she would show those Resistance leaders what the Hero of Ferelden was made of.


	12. The Will of a Hero

“The time for action has come,” Alistair spoke, addressing the advisors. Breynna looked on approvingly. “While there are still questions to be answered about the means with which this organization operates, we cannot afford to wait longer. Their agents grow brazen in the streets and we must strike back before the situation gets out of hand.”

“May I ask what action your Majesty intends?” Eamon asked tactfully.

“We will mount an offensive against a headquarters of their operations. Auralee has provided enough information for us to ascertain its location. We have reasonable certainly of some of the leaders as well.”

Eamon nodded, satisfied. “And who will be responsible for this assault?”

Breynna stepped forward. “I am.”

The advisors, though not particularly surprised, looked curiously at Alistair to confirm this. He nodded. “Who better to lead this mission than our Hero?” He smiled at Breynna.

“I feel I must remind your Highness of the inherent danger such a mission entails.”

Breynna only smiled. “I am well aware.”  




“I will go as well,” Wynne spoke. It was now Alistair’s turn to look at her in surprise. Breynna opened her mouth to object but Wynne dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. “Oh, don’t be so shocked, you two,” she chided them. “Have you forgotten already what these old bones can do?”

Breynna smiled, remembering her courage and vigor during their fights with the darkspawn. “I would be honored to have you join me, Wynne.” As an aside she added, “If you think you would be able to, that is.”

Wynne sighed sadly. “To be honest, I think the constant battles kept my spirit refreshed and hungering for more life. Now, in the quiet of the castle, I can feel the life-force leaving me day by day. I think I would prefer to spend my last breaths serving you and my country than holed up in a castle chamber somewhere waiting for the end.” Breynna nodded solemnly.

“Thank you, Wynne.” Alistair humbly offered. “Your service saves us once again the face of necessity.” She smiled and accepted his compliment.

Eamon was evidently uneasy with these latest developments. “I think it would be best if we had someone to accompany Ladies Breynna and Wynne on this journey. I have no doubt as to the abilities of either of you, but…”

There was a murmur of agreement and Breynna spoke, “I have already taken the liberty of arranging another set of blades.” Alistair raised his eyebrows. She hadn’t mentioned this part of her plan to him. “I think you are all well acquainted with our Antivan friend.”

At her cue, Zevran stepped out from the vestibule. He looked polished and professional, his leather armor well oiled and his dagger hilts glistening in their sheaths. He bowed elegantly and addressed Alistair, “Your highness. I do not believe I have congratulated you in earnest for your new position.”

Alistair sighed under his breath. He did not particularly care for the former assassin, but he was not spiteful enough to spur his well wishes either. “Thank you, Zevran.” Then he darted a glance to Breynna and understood why she had not told him of this. He wouldn’t have liked it - still doesn’t - but Eamon had been right. They needed another to go with them on this attack and Zevran was someone she could trust. Begrudgingly, he admitted that he did too… well, as far as combat was concerned at least.

Breynna watched him intently, pleading with her eyes. “What do you think? Do you have any objections to this arrangement?”

“No,” he said honestly. “If there were any able to carry out this mission, I have no doubt that you, Wynne, and Zevran will.” She smiled graciously and looked around at her two companions. Familiarity and excitement coursed through her, so happy was she at this prospect. She gripped her hands into fists, trying to be patient and failing. She couldn’t wait to feel her blades in her hands again and the adrenaline pumping through her veins. The morning could not come soon enough.

 

***

 

Hastria struggled against the guards that held her. She did not harbor illusions of escape or taking vengeance against her captors, but she resented being paraded around for the castle inhabitants to gawk at her. As if being cuffed wrists and ankles wasn’t enough restraint, the two fully armored guards stood, hands gripping her shoulders tightly, and roughly forcing her to move at their command.

They brought her to the armory, in the wing directly before the prison. Alistair and Breynna stood with the prison commander, discussing arrangements. They grew quiet as the guards and Hastria approached. They put her on display before the king and she glared at him. More than she hated being made a demonstration of, she hated the way they were looking at her now with sadness, even pity.

“Hatria of South Reach,” the prison commander read from the formal document he held. “You have been accused of trafficking confidential information, the solicitation of lawless acts, and aiding the criminal organization of anarchy throughout the land. These accusations are supported by the testiment of a firsthand witness and the evidence of this letter-" He held up a piece of parchment she recognized as the missive that dissappeared from her bag a few nights before. "-written by your hand, and inclusive of pennings from known Resistance consorters. As such, you are charged with high treason against the king. Do you deny any these accusations?”

“As if that would do any good,” Hastria sneered.

The commander’s brow arched. “Do you have _anything_ you wish to say on your behalf?”

“I say that I serve the _true queen_ of Ferelden! I bow not to the will of these imposters!”

Breynna gritted her teeth from where she stood to the side of the commander. Alistair, too, was stiff and serious. His arms were tightly folded against him and he watched with a stony silence, revealing nothing of the emotion he felt at these proceedings.

The commander denoted this on his document and then turned to Alistair. “Does your Majesty wish to say anything on the prisoner’s behalf?”

“No,” he said. Breynna, for her part, remained silent. Somewhere down the hall a slow drip of water sounded unusually loud in their ears, a slow tick of time taunting them to release any of the unspoken animosity that radiated between those assembled. The prison commander nodded to Alistair.

“Then Hastria Thirever, you have been found guilty of treason and multiple acts of sedition. You are hereby condemned to death.”

At these words, her calmness broke and Hastria surged again against her captors. She bucked against their hold and yelled at the castle commanders. “Do you think my death will change anything? The people know what you did! They will take their country back! You cannot stop the righteous!”

Alistair ignored these shouts and addressed the commander. “Put her in solitary, as far away from Anora as possible. I don’t want them plotting together down here.” Then Breynna stepped toward the prisoner until they were toe-to-toe.

“I almost trusted you once, Hastria.” They stared at each other – a standoff of bitter, stubborn souls. “But you’ve proved my suspicions correct after all. Those days of freedom you enjoyed are gone and shortly so will you be as well. And if you think that your death will be remembered or mourned by the Resistance you served, then you are the one most mistaken. The Resistance serves its own needs, and _only_ its own needs; your sacrifice will be in vain. And for that, you have my pity.”

Hastria’s eyes clouded over for a split-second as she considered what Breynna said. Then the angry sneer returned and she spat at the queen. “I don’t need your sodding pity,” she growled.

Breynna remained unmoved, wiping the spit off her face with an unbroken and eerie calmness. Alistair instead motioned to the commander and they started dragging Hastria off toward her cell.

“Bastard!” Hastria continued to yell as she struggled against the guards taking her away. “No matter what you do to me, you will _always be a bastard_! This kingdom _is not yours!_” And the sting of her words did not reflect in Alistair’s stoic calm at all.

 

***

 

It wasn’t until much later, when they had retired to the relative tranquility of the throne room, that Breynna noticed how withdrawn Alistair had become. She hadn’t needed to ask whether the scene with Hastria bothered him; she knew it did. It bothered both of them.

He laughed bitterly. “Such a common insult but it always seems to be the one that hurts the deepest.”

She regarded him and caressed his hand. “About being a bastard?”

He nodded, taking his crown off and setting it on the table. He looked at it with annoyance, an aversion to the ironic twist of fate it represented. “It’s true though. To some, that is all I will ever be; I can never escape the stigma of my birth. Why, I never even knew my father except for in storybooks and legends. So that’s what he was to me – a fairytale.” His brow furrowed as he thought on this more. “I used to imagine – when I was little – that he was a resplendent knight in shining armor aboard the purest white stallion. That such a magnificent man would come and rescue me from the mud and the hay seemed about the most perfect ending imaginable for a child’s story…” His voice trailed off as he became self-conscious of these reveries but Breynna watched him without judgment.

“But, as I grew I learned the truth about him and my family. Eamon and Duncan were more of a father to me – raising me and believing in me. Maric was my father in name alone. He abandoned my family to our fates without a second thought. What kind of man does that?” Alistair sighed and shook his head. These things were so long in the past and yet aggravatingly interconnected with his present and future.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve heard all this before. I just – it was easier when he was just a story to me. Now here I am, the king just like he was, and I’m scared that I will _become him_. I don’t want that. I want to be…” he searched for the right words. When none came he looked into her eyes and said softly, honestly, “I want to be a good man.”

Breynna considered this, nodding. She moved closer to him and rested one hand on his. With the other, she smoothed his hair where the crown had sat and ached at his sorrow. “Maybe Maric was a good man, inside. But maybe being a good king means sometimes making the choices that a ‘good man’ wouldn’t. And when the choice comes, you do it anyway because it’s your duty. I don’t think either distinction can ever be black and white.”

She held him a moment longer, thinking back over the times when her own judgment in a heated situation had wavered. She had come incredibly close to killing Connor back in Redcliffe, and Alistair had stayed her blade. He had given her one extra moment to consider what she had been about to do and that had made all the difference. Would it have been evil to kill him? Maybe so, or maybe not; it all depended on how one viewed the situation. These things, she felt, often fell outside the limited range of morality alone, at least in that moment of tension and pressure in which they occur. But then, how much of what followed would have been indelibly changed had she made that one swift cut?

“You and I, Alistair, everyone - we all have our moments of darkness. It is part of our humanity. But when I look at you, I see a man who is noble and true. You have a good heart, one that’s full of warmth and compassion. And you have the ambition to help this land not only recover from the Blight, but to make it better than it has ever been. Those are the parts of Maric the Savior that are in you too. I am sure of it.”

He allowed a smile to creep into the corners of his mouth. Breynna continued, “The past will always be with us, more than we’d like it to be. But that we cannot change, and we can never let it overshadow what we must do in the future.” She smiled reassuringly at him. “Take heart, my love. I doubt Maric became a king overnight either.”

“No, I don’t suppose he did.”

 “But he did have Rowan beside him. Like Cailan had Anora. And luckily for you, you have me!” She grinned and put a kiss on his cheek. He laughed and scooped her into his arms.

“You don’t say! I guess that makes me the luckiest bastard ever…. So to speak.” She giggled and sat there in his arms, kissing him over and over.


	13. In the Hearts of Men

Auralee was glad she had continued coming to the Pearl. She had briefly considered staying at the castle and ending the nightly visits, but after a couple nights she had given in and rejoined her friends. She knew she couldn’t keep slipping away from her responsibilities forever, but every night she could get away was a treasure. For a few hours each night, the world held possibilities and enjoyment that the rest of the hours did not.

The first night had been the hardest. Every brush against her skin made her jump and she read too much in every gaze she encountered. Her nerves felt on edge constantly and she thought she had been right - it was too soon, it was too much. But Valthorn and Daz had been quietly supportive, whether on purpose or not, and every night became easier for her to handle. She was grateful for them either way. They never commented on her jittery, nervous glances or told her to calm down the way noble men often scolded their highstrung wives. They would just joke and laugh with her the way they always had, and if she didn't smile as brightly or comment as quicly as she had before, it was ok. They understood; that was all Auralee needed. In time, she began to feel easier in this spot again. And, in time, the laughter _did_ return. 

Glancing over at her friend, she realized that Valthorn had been talking to her all while she had been thinking. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I was just thinking about how good you look,” he repeated. "Every night you get a little more of yourself back and I'm glad. I missed that part of you." Then, quieter, “I was really worried about you.”

She gave him a sweet smile and put her hand on his. “Thank you. I was lucky; I had good people watching over me. I still do.” She gave his hand a little squeeze and his heart jumped every so slightly."More than that. You made me want this, still. You made me feel... safe... again."

Valthorn smiled, a soft blush rising as he glanced down and away from her. "Anything for you, my dear lady."

On the far end of the dining room, Sanga was beginning to lift the chairs on the tables – her implication that it was late and time to be moving on to other destinations. Auralee was always surprised when the night snuck up on her. It was easy to lose track of time here, and she liked that; it was a luxury.

“Ah, Sanga’s a cruel mistress," Valthorn said with a sigh. "She's always cutting off my beautiful moments alone with you.”

He started to rise, leaning over and placing a friendly kiss on Auralee’s cheek. He pulled back, meaning to rise and leave the table until he saw the look of pleased, veiled longing on her face. He stopped, for a moment sure he was misreading her, but no –  it was there in her eyes, in the gentle curved of her lips and her measured breath. Impulsively, he reached over and twisted his fingers into her hair, pulling her towards him. He kissed her, a rush of pent up desire and loneliness flooding over and dissolving the boundaries that they had held. Forgetting herself, she kissed him back, reveling in the moment.

He broke away and looked at her, eyes betraying his flood of emotions. A few strands of hair lay softly down over her eyes and a pretty, youthful flush had crested over her cheeks. _Vhen'alas_, he thought breathlessly, she was beautiful. He tried to stand again, wanting to pull her close to him again, but she looked more hesistant now and he paused. A ripple of the alcohol and the late hour washed through him, making him second-guess the leap he had just made. Auralee took a deep breath, trying to clear her head enough to _think_.

“We should go.” Her voice came out nervous, jumpy, and she was intentionally looking everywhere that wasn’t at him. “Are you going to be ok getting home?”

“Would you like make sure I do?” A tinge of desperation in his voice. “I would like that. For you… to come with me.” His eyes blinked, serious and hopeful but she said nothing in return. He chuckled then, a reluctant and late coyness that did nothing to ease the uncomfortable silence. The implied offer hung in the air, palpable and bizarre in its exposure.

Auralee’s stomach twisted with the conflicting emotion. Valthorn had been nothing short of wonderful to her and now she was repaying his kindness with a reticent, torturous rejection. But she had no choice, did she? Something in her wanted to grab him, to stop him, to love him with every part of her being. But how could she, when he was in love with someone that was not really her? How could she begin to explain to him the web of lies she had intentionally led him through?

“I must return to my Mistress,” was all she said. Her voice sounded hollow and distant to her ears as she forced herself to smile. Inside, she felt like breaking into a million pieces instead.

“Of course,” he said. “I should have known… thought about that…”

She pleaded with her eyes for him to stop. She thought she saw a subtle flicker of understanding between them, or perhaps it was only wishful thinking on her part. Either way, he stopped. Beyond that, he only offered her his hand, which she took.

“Come, my dear, I will at least walk you out.”

 

***

 

 “Burning the midnight oil, Alistair?”

Alistair looked up at the doorway, eyes heavy with weariness. It was early into the hours of the morning, but both men were wide awake. “Eamon? What are you doing here?”

“Why, this is my study, sire.”

Alistair rubbed his eyes and sighed at the obvious comment. He wasn’t sure why he always ended up in Eamon’s study during the long hours he couldn’t sleep, but he did. He had not run across anyone else in his late night forays before though, certainly not Eamon. What he had meant to ask was, _why are you up so late too?_ but he felt his curiosity flagging. Long, sleepless nights did that to a person after awhile. “I can go,” Alistair mumbled, tidying up the papers in front of him.

Eamon watched him. “That is not necessary. If there was something you needed, I might be of assistance.”

“The only thing I need is…” _To get this darkspawn blood out of my body._ _To have a country at peace. To spend one day alone with my wife. To sleep – for a long time, just sleep_.

Eamon placed a hand on Alistair’s shoulder. His touch was firm, resolute, and comforting. It was the steel of a sword, and the knowing of a wise man. “I think what you need it to remember who you are.”

Alistair’s eyes snapped up but saw only an implacable look in return. Alistair paused, trying to read the older man. “I don't know what you mean by that. Or... what it is you want from me,” he confessed. "I'm doing the best I can."

"Are you?"

"Given the circumstances, yes!" Alistair looked hurt, a flare of indignant anger lashed out. “I never even wanted this, Eamon. I don’t have any idea about how to be a king!”

Just as quickly his anger was gone, dissolved away in the shame of those words. Words everyone knew but ones Alistair had been too proud to admit aloud. His head bowed, quiet and sad. In that moment, he looked less like a king and more like a child, as if he had reverted wordlessly to an earlier version of himself.

“I know this isn’t the path you wanted, Alistair,” Eamon said unfazed. “I know you see it as a sort of prison, much like you saw the Chantry training I sent you into so many years ago. But as unwilling as you were then, it was right for you, was it not?”

“Yes,” Alistair said slowly. And it _had been right_. He needed the discipline and he craved the peace of mind the Chantry life brought him. He had rebelled against it at every chance he had, but in the end, he found refuge in it.

Eamon continued, “You feel as though this title now is a similar institution; one you were forced into. But, Alistair, it’s not. This is different, because no one forced you…”

“Breynna did,” Alistair interjected. Eamon didn't respond, watching Alistair with a resolved silence. _Did she really?_ That silence said.

Alistair thought back to the day of the Landsmeet, as Breynna had announced her decision for the throne. The steadfastness of her gaze, the resolution in her voice; it had given him strength when his knees had threatened to buckle under him. And when she had agreed to rule beside him, he had felt a wave of calmness settle into every inch of his body. He had known, even then, that she had been right. Here he was, still rebelling against everything that other people laid down as the plans for his life, when in reality, they were his plans too. He wanted this. Now that he lived in the castle, felt the honor of the position and the satisfaction of command... why, he could not imagine living any other way. Everything he wanted in his life was here. He drew a sharp breath in, for the first time realizing the weight of that thought. _He wanted to be king_.

For a moment, Eamon’s restraint dissolved. He smiled at Alistair with a paternal pride and genuine care. “You’re not a boy anymore, Alistair. Regardless of your loyalty to us or anyone else, you can make your own choices now, and more than that, you _need_ to.” Alistair nodded, still reeling inside from his change of heart. “Make no mistake, taking control of this land and its fractures will require your total commitment. If you have any doubt to your ability or steadfastness in the task, you are doomed before you begin.”

Alistair swallowed hard the finality of these words. “I can do that. No, I _will_ do that.”

“I know you will. Those you love, those you traveled with during the Blight, the citizens outside your window that cheer for you in the streets – you are their king and they believe in you. It is time to show them that you believe it, too.” 

Alistair stood and clasped Eamon to him in a sweeping embrace. The two men stood together, waves of unspoken energy and thought between them. It was a moment of intimacy like which they had never shared before and as remarkable they could ever hope to have. Alistair’s eyes softened into slits and happiness gushed over his expression. For a moment, they were as close as only a father and son could be.

“It is time for _you_ to decide what your fate will be.” Eamon reminded him as they broke, then he smiled again. “Though if I were you, I might want to consider getting some rest as part of that fate.”

Alistair chuckled. “With tidbits like that, you are sure to keep your status as Chief Advisor for quite some time.”

“Goodnight Sire.”

“Maker watch you, Eamon.”

Alistair sat back down at the desk. For once, he felt content enough that he might sleep. But all this excited energy that had been released was keeping him from going right away to that end. In all honesty, he hadn’t felt this alert and alive since the days they were out on the road, fighting the Blight. He smiled to himself. What he wouldn’t give for one more glorious battle, bedecked in his armor – not the gold, ceremonial, useless kind – _his_ armor with all the dents and gashes in it. What would Breynna think? He laughed, and thought about what fun it would be to find out.


	14. Old Friends, New Foes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is flagged for graphic violence and death.** There is a summary provided at the end for readers who wish to skip this chapter.

Breynna led Zevran and Wynne down the dark alleyway to the back entrance they had uncovered. She reached for the door handle when a sound came from behind them making her jump. She whirled around, blades out, as a cloaked figure emerged from the shadows. She launched herself at him and pulled up only just in time as he dropped the hood so she could see his face.

“Maker take you!” She gasped at him, louder than she meant to. “Alistair, what are you _doing here_?”

He grinned at her, foolhardy and loving it. “What, and miss out on all the fun? Even a king needs to play once and awhile.”

She blinked twice, trying to understand. He looked so proud of himself and eager to join them that she just rubbed her temples with a sigh. She could feel Wynne's reproachful glare behind her. Zevran chuckled, breaking the silence. “Just like old times, eh, my dear Warden?”

Breynna laughed then too, in spite of herself. “Ok, Alistair, but I’m warning you. I will _kill you_ if you get yourself hurt.”

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed beaming and they followed Breynna as she ducked in through the backdoor. He was careful to avoid Wynne’s reproachful gaze as they slipped into the building in silence.

 

***

 

“My dear Alistair,” Zevran said, careful not to raise his voice above a whisper as they crept along the long hallway. “Do not misunderstand me; I am quite pleased you have decided to join us. But I must admit, it begs the question of ‘what happened to your guards?’”

Alistair smiled a little sheepishly. “Oh, you’d be surprised how convincing a couple coins and a barrel of ale can be.”

“I would not be surprised at all!” the rogue countered. “Ahh, I have several pleasant memories of nights that began in exactly that same way.”

“Err, right,” Alistair said shifting uncomfortably as a blush crept onto his cheeks. He had been around Zevran for less than an hour and already he felt the awkward pang of naïveté the rogue instilled in him. No matter how many crowns Alistair wore, he could never shake the feeling of being insecure and inexperienced around the bawdy rogue.

Zevran knew this but took pity on him. While he would never argue that he enjoyed making Alistair uncomfortable, it was only for fun. Zevran teased him so because he honestly really liked the man. He liked a challenge and a good sport and Alistair was both of these.

“Come now, I was just making a joke.” Zevran playfully punched Alistair’s shoulder and the man relaxed a little, giving in to his good nature. “Besides, you rather impressed me tonight.”

“Oh?” Now this was new, Alistair thought.

“Quite so,” Zevran continued. “I had a hunch that someone followed us but I did not know who until you reveled yourself. That is no easy feat, my friend.”

Alistair had never been any good at subtly and he vaguely wondered if the rogue still toyed with him – praising him just to raise his spirits. But no, he thought again, they really had been surprised when he had shown himself. Wynne, in particular, had looked downright exasperated. “Well, thank you. I guess being around the rogues in the King’s Guard have taught me a thing or two then.”

Zevran’s eyebrows rose playfully and he would have responded to this had it not been at that moment that Breynna looked back at them. She motioned Zevran to the front, cutting off their conversation. She pointed at the doorway just ahead where a thin light filtered out. There were shadows that danced along its path indicating movement inside the room. She did not need to say anything further. Zevran slipped into the shadows and approached the room while the others kept at bay. He searched the doorway and the hall ahead for traps but there were none. He listened for any signs of people in the adjoining rooms, but again, there were no indications of any other dangers.

He remarked to himself how foolish these people had been to leave themselves unguarded. He snuck into the room like a faint breeze and the candle illuminating the men’s card game flickered ever so slightly. One of the men looked up lazily but saw nothing. Zevran ran him through with his daggers before the man even knew what had happened to him.

At the sound of clattering chairs, the other companions rushed into the room, easily overwhelming the unprepared men. In only a few minutes all three men lay dead on the ground. If only every battle could be so easy, Breynna thought.

“What a rush!” Zevran cried with glee. “The heart is pounding – the blades flashing! Taking life makes you feel so alive, no?”

Alistair looked at him with aversion. “That’s morbid.”

“That doesn’t make it less true,” Zevran responded without missing a beat.

Breynna gave them another warning sign. The encounter had been brief but they would be fools if they thought it could have gone completely unnoticed. They had to move quickly now, more guards would be upon them any moment.

They left the room and continued on up the hall. Zevran brushed by Alistair, close enough to whisper in his ear, “So exhilarating – this sliding your blade into a man.”  He winked as he slid off to join their leader at the front. And with the inflection of Zevran’s playful words, Alistair felt the familiar blush rising in his neck again.

 

***

 

Breynna and her companions entered the large hall they had seen so many times before, with the people they had seen so many times before, with a plan they had used so many times before. The rooms changed a little in their composition, the opponents varied in numbers and abilities, but their plan of execution remained relatively the same. They were, after all, masters of combat by this point and if enemies readily fall to one’s blades, there is little point in changing tactics.

Breynna rushed in first and surveyed the scene. There were four guards within striking distance and she engaged these immediately. Alistair knocked one to the ground with his shield. Wynne held back in the doorway and laid small healing spells on them to keep up their stamina. Zevran slinked into the shadows, making his way to the upper tier of the room where the Commander of these units and a mage stood flinging down spells on the party.

_Mages die first_, Zevran thought with glee. Springing his attack, he lodged both his blades into the woman without remorse, shearing fabric, flesh and bone all at once. She cried out in agony. Another quick flurry and the mage was permanently silenced. The Commander wielded around to attack Zevran and the rogue barely dodged the huge swing of his battleaxe in time. He ducked behind the Commander and engaged him in the cat-and-mouse style fight that Zevran loved so much. _Now you see me_ – as the axe swung hard at him. _Now you don’t_ – as the axe smashed into a chair or table or floor, lodging itself but never finding the rogue’s flesh.

Meanwhile, Alistair and Breynna had their hands full with the guards. These had proved more resourceful than the two had given them credit for. These were not fresh recruits, but skilled fighters in their own rights. Neither of the heroes had much time for attacks of their own; they were engrossed in parrying and blocking the attacks of the soldiers. Wynne helped them by slowing and freezing the guards when she could. She froze one solid just as Alistair’s shield swung and collided with the unlucky solider. He shattered in a brilliant burst of blue ice and red blood. In other circumstances, the spray of color could almost have been described as beautiful.

It hadn’t taken them long to fall back into their stride, Breynna’s swords dancing skillfully beside Alistair’s valiant shield blocking. The two worked extremely well together in the midst of battle, a connection that had precipitated everything that had followed between them. Eventually they managed to take down a second soldier. Alistair yelled at Breynna that he could handle these two; she needed to go help Zevran with the Commander. Surprised by his sudden willingness to command, she did so. Running up the right flight of steps, she caught the commander slightly off balance and struck a blow against one of his spaulders. It was a badly aimed blow and did not hurt him, but did momentarily send him off balance.

Breynna was at a disadvantage engaging the commander directly. Her swords were useful to deflect daggers and swords, but were no match for his hefty battleaxe. She staggered against the blow as one hit came in directly on the side of her chestplate. Opportunistically, Wynne healed her at just that moment, saving her from incapacitation or worse. Zevran however, was relieved of his burden and took this opportunity to let fly with his own series of attacks. He worked the best he could around  the heavy plate armor, trying to expose its weaknesses and land an attack here and there where he could.

Zevran ducked in front of the Commander at one point of the fight. With a deft flick of his daggers, he struck the Commander’s hands and dislodged the axe he held. Breynna jumped on the opportunity and kicked it away to the far corner of the alcove. Not to be outmaneuvered, the Commander punched a heavy gauntlet into the rogue’s chest in a rare moment of vulnerability. Zevran tumbled to the floor in a heap. Breynna launched herself at the Commander in retaliation just as he drew a dagger from his belt.

Alistair and Wynne, finally free of the guards, ran up and joined them on the stairs. She laid some healing on Zevran and renewed Breynna’s strength and health too. Breynna saw Alistair running full tilt at them. Suddenly, an idea came to her – a devastating double-attack if they could pull it off. She waited until Alistair was within a stride or two of them. Then, as she strafed to the side,  the Commander followed blindly slashing at her. She avoided the initial blow and instead dashed behind the charging Alistair. He lifted his shield as high as his own head and collided with the Commander, smashing the shield into his enemy's helm with a devastating force. Stunned, the Commander fell backward and heavily to the floor. Unarmed again and badly hurt, he raised his arms in defeat.

“Please, Sers, spare me,” he gasped, winded.

Breynna strode toward the fallen man. He awkwardly propped himself up on one elbow, reaching over and unsnapping his chestplace so he could breathe more easily. Glancing up at the warrior above him, he said, “Is this the part where you kill me? To prove you’re the better armsman?”

Breynna pressed one sword against his throat. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

He chuckled menacingly, arrogant to the last. “I have information – about the Resistance. That’s why you’re even here, isn’t it?”

“I do not trust this man,” Zevran chimed in from behind her. “Then again, I really do not trust anybody… But this man less so than most. I would be cautious, if I were you.”

Breynna stood like stone and didn’t move her sword. “Start talking.”

He opened his hands in an effort to reassure her that he posed no threat to her now. Cautiously, he sat up. Breynna’s blade followed him, tempting him to try something – anything. He began to talk. “It was right after the Blight ended. I was sought out by a man who called himself ‘The Wolf’. Said he needed fighters he could trust to lead the city in revolt. He said to me, ‘Dregan, I’ve known you for…”

Breynna’s eyes narrowed and felt her breath constrict. “Dregan,” she repeated, cold as ice.

The commander’s story broke off and he looked up at her, a flicker of confusion written in his features. _How did she know who he was?_ Without warning, she kicked him in the chest, leveling him again and knocking the little breath he had out of him. He croaked in surprise and struggled to lift his head. When he did, he saw his attacker standing over him. “You worthless cad,” she spat at him. “You rotten piece of filth!” and kicked him again. He scuttled away from her blows, moaning in pain. Alistair and Zevran exchanged a quick worried glance and backed away from Breynna a step.

“Is this what you felt like?” She yelled at him, reaching down and pulling his head up violently by his hair. “When you took all your aggressions out on a helpless elf? I should’ve killed you at the first moment I had the chance!” He flailed his hands helplessly trying to gain purchase on the empty air. The fear in his eyes gave him away but Breynna didn’t wait for him to respond or regain his composure. “Now you’re going to find out why you _never_ cross a Cousland.” She growled the words at him and sliced her sword in a close arc under her hand that held his head, neatly severing it from his body. His eyes continued to stare back at her with terror.

Breynna dropped the lifeless head and slowly backed away. The first touches of awareness were dawning on her once again. The adrenaline was subsiding and the fury of the moment dissipated leaving only a sad, somewhat sickening sense of revulsion. Alistair came up beside her and put a hand on her arm. Breynna shook her head, slowly at first, still disbelieving. She broke away from Alistair’s grasp, steeling herself against feeling anything in this moment. __

_Later_. There was always later for things like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Summary:** Just before entering the Resistance base, Alistair appears and joins the heroes for their assault. The four work their way through the base, using the battle strategies that served them well during the Blight. Eventually they come to the Commander of the base and battle him, his mage, and a collection of guards. Our heroes prevail, and Breynna momentarily considers sparing his life in exchange for information about the movement. However, upon learning that the Commander is, in fact, the man who assaulted Auralee, Breynna loses control of the situation and attacks him. She kills him in vengeance for his part in the Resistance and the Pearl incident.


	15. No Rest For The Weary

Breynna struggled against the weight of her weariness as she lay in bed. She wanted to wait for Alistair before she fell off to sleep; she felt like he needed him tonight, and she fought against herself for it. Finally, she heard his distinct footfalls outside their doorway and the creak of the chamber door. She sat up in bed, groggily, and smiled. “Did Eamon yell at you?”

“Yelling – present tense. If you listen closely, you can still hear him four halls over.”

“Well, you deserved it.”

He laughed as he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, slightly muffling his words. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I had your back during the fights.”

“That’s because you probably couldn’t hear it through that thick skull of yours.” She giggled and wrapped her arms around him as he slid into bed next to her.

“Ow, ow – bruised ego here!” He kissed her and felt the warm, curve of her body under his touch. “But I can think of one thing that could fix that problem right up…”

She murmured and diverted his hands away from her. “Tired.”

“Sure, sure, that’s what they all say.” But when she didn’t respond, he reached a hand up and brushed her cheek. “Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” But he could read in her voice that she wasn’t fine. Just like all the nights she hadn’t been fine in camp and he had held her, aching to take away her pain. So much had changed since then and yet this was one thing that had not. He always waited for her to come to him, to open herself in the dark and the quiet of the night; when nobody else watched, and nobody else knew.

He pulled her closer to him so that their bodies lay entwined; her face lodged into the crook under his chin and her arms embraced his strong chest, down to the long lithe lines of her legs and feet. His skin tingled with the heat and the softness of her, and he wanted to hold her forever, make love to her madly, and comfort her pain – everything, all at once. Such were the things of fantasies.

He worked his hands around to her shoulders, pressing in and manipulating her muscles taunt with stress and work. He eased them into relaxing a bit, his fingers moving and massaging the long lines of tissue that ran up the back of her neck. He worked along her back as far as the stretch of his arms would allow, along the way releasing some of the pent up stress and emotion she held within her.

She sighed and murmured with the good feelings he was evoking in her. And all at once, the tears came to her eyes. She expected him to say something but he didn’t. Instead, he stroked her hair listening as her breath came more raggedly and the tears more freely. She cried there in the dark pressed against him. Her hands caught around his sides and she clutched him like she was afraid he would disappear or was a mirage that might fall away at any moment. But he was real, and more than simply existing, he understood. He would lay with her as long as she needed.

 

***

 

The next day, Breynna found herself sitting in the throne room with Alistair again as if their escapade into the halls of the Resistance base had never happened. It was borderline surreal; listening to Bann reports and sipping wine in chalices when half a day earlier she had wallowed in the gore of hand-to-hand combat. It was a transition she became more sure of everyday that she would never grow accustomed to. Not after what she had been through. Was still going through, she corrected. The stuffiness of the castle hall seemed almost stifling now in comparison to the freedom she had enjoyed hours before and she could barely contain the frown that kept creeping into her expression.

Breynna’s eyes lit up as she saw the familiar shape of her brother enter into the room. She stood to greet him but the happiness of reunion was cut short by the manner with which he strode forward. He was all business and looking grim. He granted her a brief half-smile before standing at attention before Alistair.

“Teyrn Cousland?” Alistair asked. "You have returned so soon?"

“Fergus, what’s wrong?” Breynna asked more directly.

Fergus’s distress was evident as he addressed them. “We discovered a _situation_, your Majesty.”

Alistair’s back stiffened. “What kind of situation?”

“Darkspawn,” he said, confirming their suspicions. “We encountered a rather large group of them moving north, led by… well…” Fergus’s lip curled as he struggled to find the appropriate words. “There was one who had unusual abilities. That is, he was able to speak.”

Their eyes went wide with this news, and Breynna thought that if it had been anyone other than Fergus who brought this news, she would not have believed them. She had battled against all manners of darkspawn the large and powerful, but nothing prepared her for this.

“Not to… doubt your word, Fergus…” Alistair began curiously.

“No, your Majesty, you’re quite right to be doubtful. I would not have believed it myself if I had not been the one speaking to it. Ser Rilen and two other of my knights also witnessed the incident.”

“And you could understand everything he said?” Breynna asked still unbelieving. “He talked in the King’s speech?” Fergus nodded.

“Where is this unusual darkspawn now?”

Fergus cleared his throat. “He is dead, my lord. Forgive me, but we felt it a better course of action than to risk transporting him. There was no indication of how much power he held or authority he commanded within the darkspawn ranks.” He searched their faces for some sign of response to this but there was little emotion from either of them, only a grim alarm.

“Thank you, Tyern Cousland,” Alistair said. “I appreciate your swift response in bringing this matter to our attention. We shall give it more discussion immediately.”

Fergus nodded. “Shall I gather the men and continue the patrol, your Majesty?”

Alistair considered. “No, I think not. You said you lost a dozen men during this attack?” 

“Yes, Sire.”

Alistair‘s brow furrowed, his discontent echoed by the woman beside him. “There’s no sense in sending you out at half-strength then. Perhaps you could stay on with the King’s Guard here and prepare the newer soldiers. I have a sinking feeling we may need their ranks again sooner than we had hoped.”

“As you wish, your Majesty.”

“And perhaps you would care to join us for dinner tonight? To celebrate your safe return?” Breynna beamed next to him as Alistair offered this invation.

“I would be honored,” Fergus accepted.

Then he bowed to the king and queen, and before he left, shot a loving smile as Breynna. She smiled in return; glad to see her brother reveling in his leadership again. When she was alone with Alistair again, she cocked an eyebrow.

“Why do I feel like there was more to this incident that he let on?”

“You felt that way too?” Alistair mused.

“I have known Fergus all my life,” she said simply. “I can read him. Something happened out there, but I don’t know what.”

“Maybe he is still feeling the effects of the attack? Battling those monstrosities isn’t easy, that’s for sure,” Alistair suggested. “And you know how strange our dreams can be. Experiencing that sort of bizarreness in reality could drive someone to unexpected actions.”

She thought on this. “It’s definitely possible. But… I think maybe it was the speaking one itself. Too much of an abomination to allow him to survive, perhaps. Or the possibility that it presented.” She followed this thought a little further, allowed its possibilities to come to her. “Do you think they could be changing? The darkspawn I mean, evolving maybe?” She lowered her voice until it was barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to say this – even think it – but it seemed more and more relevant as they uncovered all of this troubling information. “I can’t help worrying that the ritual we participated…”

“You mean _I_ participated in,” he corrected. “Not that I’m proud of it.”

“I put you up to it. I deserve some of the blame as well.” He did not acknowledge this. The weight was on him, she knew, and he would not budge. She watched him, shifting uncomfortably. Putting it all out in the open - the specifics of the ritual and the reasons they were both alive – prevented her from hiding from it; as if that could make it somehow less real or less disturbing to her memory. “We only did what was necessary. We _needed_ Morrigan and if that was what we had to do then–“

“Breynna.” He broke off her justification with a sad, penetrating look. She could fool herself easily enough if she wanted to, but she couldn’t hide from Alistair. He knew the truth because he had felt it too – made the same choice she had. More so, actually, since he had followed through on it.

Breynna swallowed hard and returned back to her previous thought. “I think that it _changed_ something… Maybe something shifted in the balance of power with the darkspawn.” He nodded, not looking in her direction, and she was surprised. “You think so too?”

Alistair grimaced. “I feel it in the nightmares.” And when she looked like she was going to interject, he said, “Not like the Warden dreams. Those are bad enough. But this nightmare I have… the darkspawn bow to a new master, one of a twisted, transformed human. And there are others – darkspawn we’ve never seen before. They open up and devour everything. They devour me, because I am….” He looked visibly shaken. “Part of me is… in them. I feel them now because now I am part of them.”

“That’s not true,” she murmured, her words lacking the intensity they should have had.

“Isn’t it?” He tried to laugh, but the sound was wry and weak. “Wardens walk a fine line between the two. I fear that I am just more dedicated than most.”

She didn’t laugh, still slightly stunned and unsure of how to respond. In the awkward silence, he tried to change the subject – to return to the matter they had been originally discussing. “At any rate, you and I know as much about the darkspawn and their tendencies than anyone else in this land. And unfortunately you know that isn’t a whole lot in the entire course of things.”

“You’re right, we’ve never heard of anything like this,” she admitted, and then a light dawned on her. “But the other Wardens might have. If anyone would know it would the Commander of the Grey at Weisshaupt.”

Alistair nodded. “Of course. I will write to the First Warden and also to the Warden-Commander of Orlais at once. I can just see the letter now: Dear First Warden, I am in need of your assistance. It seems that I have created a demon baby capable of metamorphosing the darkspawn into a world-crunching force of terror. Please advise. Also, we have some fabulous imported teas if you’d care to join us sometime for brunch.”

Breynna chuckled. “Well, at least you don’t have to write to me. As current Warden-Commander of Ferelden, I am already aware of the circumstances.” She meant the comment harmlessly, but the words seemed to hang in the air between them. It was a solemn reminder that her duty lay with the Wardens in the north just as surely as Alistair’s did here at the castle.

“Uh, speaking of,” he said, “when do you need to travel up to Vigil’s Keep?”

“Soon,” she said. She admitted this much to herself: as much as the comfort and stability of the castle called to her, she had a strange craving to be on the road again and the Wardens needed her in the north.  “Actually, with this development I should make arrangements to leave as soon as possible. With the remnants of the horde moving north, they may need my help sooner than I anticipated.” He nodded a response. “Unless you need me here more?”

“You’re wicked!” He laughed and slung an arm around her. “How could I respond to a question like that? _Of course_ I want to keep you here. Especially with all this… Resistance business. I can use all the help I can get.” His smiling eyes turned serious again. “But you know we Wardens weren’t made for following our own hearts.” He caressed her cheek. “And I wouldn’t keep you from your duty for the entire world.”

She nestled into the crook between his shoulder and chest and rested against him. It was settled then and the volley of feeling between wanting to stay and needing to go somewhat abated. She would send word to Amaranthine and as soon as their escort arrived, she would depart for the north. Bittersweet to be sure, but Alistair was right. When duty calls, the heart has no choice but to listen.


	16. The Meaning of Sacrifice

Breynna rubbed her eyes blearily and looked down at the heavy book on her lap. She had spent most of the afternoon absorbed in this text about the Wardens. The history of her people was vast and complicated, shrouded in mystery and legend. She had vowed to memorize the important names and events as was befitting a Warden-Commander, but now she was regretting that ambition. Thousands of years of history was no easy task to commit to memory.

Her eyes scanned again the long lines of hand scribed text but halfway through she lost focus and none of the information fully registered with her. Her mind was elsewhere, too preoccupied with the events of the day and the prospects of the journey ahead to focus on the minutiae of ceremony.

She scolded herself for it. This was her job now and as such demanded her attention. She needed to know this, and her resources were limited. So if this dusty old book with its ancient faded writing was the only way to learn the various rights of conscription and etiquette, then so be it. She took a deep breath and tried to settle back into her reading. But it was no use. A few minutes later and her mind was wandering again. She sighed and stood up, carefully placing the book onto the red plush sitting chair she had been in.

She got up and started pacing around the room. The problem was that there was a huge disconnect between what this book was trying to tell her and every experience she had ever had as a Warden. She hadn’t had any formal dinners in Orlais with the Revered Mother to attend or been required to politically bargain with Antiva for recruits. Maybe it would be necessary eventually for her to learn these talents, but for now, this was not what being a Warden meant to her.

What it did mean was _Honor_. It was about fighting every battle like it was your last, because it easily could be. It was about fighting for the principles and the respect of your order above that of yourself. It meant _Integrity_. Because she fought for the rights of all people, across all of Thedas, not only those who benefit or serve her cause. It was about choosing the path of the righteous and true, and being able to understand which path that truly was.

She thought about this for a few moments, looking back at the choices she had made during the Blight. Maybe it also meant _forgiveness_; for her and for Alistair when they had faltered. When they had lost men they shouldn’t have or made choices based on their fleeting emotions instead of logic. Maybe this was an opportunity for her to repent for her past mistakes and move forward, knowing what she did now. She felt her resolve forming again inside of her.

It meant _Sacrifice_. Giving every ounce of your soul to win because your life was already forfeit, one way or another. Or resigning yourself to giving away all that you love… because you must. Yes, she understood this now – in all of its harsh reality – and she found that she could accept it. For once, she believed she was ready to do all that was necessary for the duty she had accepted at her Joining so very long ago.

“My lady, dinner is being served.”

Breynna looked back toward the doorway where Auralee stood. She had been so absorbed in her thoughts she hadn’t heard the maid approach or even open the door.

“Oh. Thank you, Auralee,” she mumbled distractedly. The maid stood waiting for her. “That will be all. I can take myself to the Great Hall.” Still Auralee did not move. Now Breynna tilted her head, a concerned gesture. “Are you ok? Is there something you need?”

Auralee shook her head slowly, a shimmer of sadness cast about her. “I’m well, my lady.”

“Come here,” she said patiently. The elf did as Breynna asked, and when she was within arm’s reach, Breynna reached up and put her hand on her arm. “Auralee.”

She stared intently at the carpeting, diverting her eyes from her master. When it was evident that Breynna would not be appeased by any amount of silence, Auralee offered softly, “I can’t go to the Pearl anymore.”

 “Why ever not?” Breynna looked confused before a thought occurred to her. “Is someone giving you trouble again?” Her fists clenched and her face flushed with anger. “If they are, I’ll…”

“No! No, my lady. No one is bothering me.” Auralee looked pained. She swallowed hard, looking for words. Part of her wanted to open up and share this weight. She had little doubt that Breynna would understand and offer compassion, but Auralee’s secretive inner soul interfered. The only one she really trusted to listen without judgment or belittling her was the one who was causing this grief in the first place. It was better not to say anything to Breynna at all. “I’m all right, my lady. I just… I don’t want to go back.”

Breynna rubbed her arm soothingly. “Auralee, it’s alright. You don’t have to go anymore if you don’t want to. I appreciate all you’ve done.” Somehow her words seemed to be making this worse as she saw Auralee’s face change from one of concealed pain to stoicism. Breynna stumbled for words, her mind racing to understand the latent meaning of this non-conversation. “Maybe I can… do something? To help your friends?”

Auralee perked up at this suggestion. “I would like that,” she said simply. “They’ve been good to me.”

“I know,” Breynna said, still at a loss. “I will talk to Alistair. Maybe we can offer them some compensation for their actions; help them improve their lives.”

Auralee’s wary regard for her did not falter and Breynna felt like the mask of what she was offering – throwing money around as a solution – was seen for what it was. She tried her best to reassure Auralee that she had only the best intentions for doing so. “I will make sure they know you’ve meant a lot to you, to us all.”

“No!” Auralee’s voice rose almost to a shout, somewhat shocking Breynna. _What exactly was she objecting to? The money? Her association with the charity? Maybe everything?_  Auralee looked downright miserable again and Breynna mirrored the look with her hapless attempts at comfort.

Auralee was first to compose herself.  “I’m sorry. I just… need to collect myself.” And then, “Thank you for your kind offer, but please don’t tell them it was from me.”

Breynna just nodded, a little numb. “Ok. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, Auralee?”

Auralee allowed Breynna to hug her, to offer a little consolation, and she regretted being so moody toward her lady. “Thank you, my lady, but there is nowhere else I wish to go. I’ll be in the Solar if you need me.”

She bowed politely, leaving Breynna sitting there, stunned. She watched the maid go, aching at the unspoken sadness of the maid and not being able to truly comfort or abate it in any way.

 

***

 

Valthorn walked into the Pearl, disappointed to see Auralee was absent again from their table. She had not been back since their intimate conversation a few nights ago and he was beginning to seriously worry. There were any number of troubles a single elf could find in these streets. But besides obvious concern for her well-being, he also worried about whether he had permanently hurt or ended their friendship with his rash actions the last time they had been together. He had no idea how to contact her though so he had no choice but to wait for her here at the Pearl.

Daz waved to his friend and laughed. “It’s about time you showed up.”

“_Abelas_ my friend, I was held up at work. Sometimes I think the foreman would rather have a donkey working for him. It could pull more and wouldn’t complain as much.”

“Ha! And I bet it wouldn’t be half as stubborn as you.” Daz joked, somewhat distractedly. He kept darting glances towards the bar watching for someone or something.

Valthorn rubbed his back, looked puzzled. “What’s going on?”

“Sanga’s been in a royal tizzy since I got here, saying she needed to talk to us right away. But she wouldn’t say anything else ‘til you came.” Just then, Sanga came around the corner and spotted Valthorn standing beside Daz. She hurried over to them.

“Sanga, what’s going on? What’s all this about?” He asked anxiously.

“Val! I’m glad you’re here. Come with me!” She clasped her hands together, trying unsuccessfully to rein in her enthusiasm. The elves shrugged at each other and obediently followed.

She led them to a room in the back hallway, glancing nervously about them to make sure they weren’t being followed. Once inside, she closed the door. She looked like she was about to boil over with nervous excitement. “The king was here today!” she confessed.

“King Alistair? Came here?” Valthorn repeated, obviously confused and a little stunned.

“Yes, this morning, with his royal guards. He asked to speak to me in private. He said he appreciated all that I’ve done for him. I just don’t know what I could’ve done for him specifically and I told him so. But he was insistent! He gave me a number of sovereigns for repairs to the Pearl.”

“Sanga, that’s amazing!” Valthorn clasp her hands and they smiled giddily at each other.

Daz remained puzzled. “I’m happy for you Sanga, but why are you telling us this? And why here?”

“Oh! This is the best part!” She turned to a small chest against one of the walls and opened it with a key she took from her pocket. She pulled out two small boxes, one for each of them. They were ornately wrapped and adorned with a silver griffon crest. “He gave me five extra sovereigns and said I needed to safe keep these gifts for you. He told me specifically - Valthorn and Daz – the elves who sit in the back corner table.”

They were shocked beyond words. Even as Sanga’s excited chatter grew in pace, the world seemed to slow around them. Valthorn could barely understand what happened. How could this be? How did the king possibly know him, a lowly elven toiler? He had to command his hands to be still as he untied the silver bow.

“_Ma serannas_,” Valthorn whispered softly.

Inside each of the beautiful boxes, a cache of glittering gold coins lay before them: A total of twenty-five sovereigns for each elf and a hand written note. In fine ancestral script, it read ‘Thank you, my friends, for service to your country’ in Dalish.

“Who could have done this for us?” Sanga looked at them puzzled. For a moment they were all silent, and then Valthorn began to smile. The other two looked at him curiously as if there were secrets and answers that only he was privy to.  He put his arms around the two and hugged them close. His eyes watered with a bittersweet happiness.

“My friends, my friends - and so we come to the end of it. I doubt that we shall see our benefactress again, but let us never forget her.” He thought, a little sadly, that maybe he was beginning to understand.


	17. Castle Crashers

The White Wolf moved gracefully through the castle hallways. He was adept at speed and stealth though he had needed neither art to gain passage to the throne room. As he entered the huge royal chamber, he grinned with the ease of it all. He anticipated that the heist going well, but this was beyond even his expectations.

As he regarded the two before him, he thought how ironic the infiltration had been. Betrayed from within, he grinned knowingly. It was, of course, the king’s underestimation of their ambition and innovation that really led to their downfall here. Wolf had just placed a couple sovereigns in the hands of the right castle servants and the world had opened up to him. The Resistance had provided the sleeping poison and the coin, Wolf had discerned which servants could be manipulated and that's all there was to it. The lacing of the evening rations has gone through without a hitch.

He walked over first to where Breynna sat slumped over the reading table, head in hands, oblivious to him or anything around her. He stole a piece of paper out from under one arm and slipped the quill she had been using from her limp grasp. Smirking, he penned a note in his deliberate, scrawling script. He wanted them to know that not only had he breached their walls and their world, but he had taken his time and _savored_ it. Wolf took his note, folded it in half, and walked over to where the king slept.

Wolf chuckled enjoying this position of power he was in. Poor Alistair, so young and so unfitting for the role he had undertaken. So like Cailan before him; some family traits stood out more than others, he mused. Soon enough though Wolf would relieve him of that burden.

The amulet he wore caught Wolf’s eye and he parted the ruffles of the king’s shirt to better observe it – a black runestone, handsomely set and glittering with a magical luminescence. Wolf withdrew a dagger from his waistband and slipped it under the delicate chain. It occurred to him how easy it would be to dispose of the king here and now as he laid his blade briefly against Alistair’s flushed skin. But before he followed through, he reconsidered. No, killing Alistair would only make him a martyr and Wolf an outlaw, more than he was willing to be at any rate. He needed to garner the support of the masses, not outrage them, if his ultimate plan was to succeed.

Instead Wolf settled for taking the runestone, snapping the chain with the sharp dagger edge. A fine trinket to remember this night, Wolf thought. He exited the room, victory clearly written on his face, leaving the sleeping rulers lie.

 

***

 

Down the hallway he strode, his most trusted companions at his back. Well, he amended, the ones that were left at any rate. The king’s men had seen to that during their invasion of the Resistance base. Their base lay in shambles now and it was little good to anyone now. It seemed as though his plan to relocate to their holdings in Bannorn would have to procede more quickly than he had originally intended. This attack now was just retribution, Wolf thought. Equal payback for the loss of men and the inconvenience of relocation. And considering that the vast majority of the castle was under an unbreakable sleeping spell he had little doubt that all the rest of the pieces of his plan would fall pleasantly into place.

A quick freeze spell or an incapacitation strike silenced the little opposition they encountered. As a result, he walked unfettered throughout the castle right down to the dungeon passages. The soldiers on guard provided the first real fight for them, but even they were made complacent by the skill and quick strike ability of the Resistance commanders.

It was easy enough to find what he looked for. The castle dungeon wasn’t large and the cells were all empty except for the few that housed the imprisoned Resistance fighters. At the end of the hallway was Anora’s cell, surprisingly well equipped for a _prison_. He half expected to see her in shackles instead of sitting on a bed with pillows sipping water from a silver decanter. Wolf walked right up to her but she seemed neither shocked nor especially pleased that he was here.

“This is a… surprise.” Anora commented without emotion. “I see that time hasn’t diminished your flair for the extravagant and the unnecessary.” Her glance shifted from him to the hall doorway where her guards stood huddled. Under the effects of a Mass Paralyze spell, the soldiers were unable to respond.

“And here I thought you might regard your would-be liberator a little more nicely, Anora. Where are your manners?”

She continued to stare at him, unresponsive. “And where is Alistair?”

“Oh he’s fine.” Wolf dismissed her question with a flick of his hand and an annoyed look. “Give me a little credit here. I know the movement is worth more than the riot that would ensue if he was harmed.”

She nodded. “At least you have some sense left in you.”

He ran his hands over the iron bars and reprimanded her like a child. “Anora, Anora…. Can I remind you which side of the cage I am, and which side you are on? It would seem beneficial for you to at least hear what I have to say.”

She placed her hands resolutely on her hips. “What do you want with me, Wolf?”

“I thought you and I could reach an _agreement_.” He looked at her slyly. “The way I see it, we need each other. I need you, the rightful ruler of Ferelden. And you need me, to free you from your prison.”

She interrupted him. “And why should I help you?”

“Because I’m not Alistair?” he retorted, arrogant because he knew that she _would_ help him. “Can we skip the pretenses Anora? My patience is wearing thin. Do you want out or not?”

Her back was rigid, her face drawn in tight. She did not relish the idea of bowing her will to this man, but it was true that she had no other way out than to accept his help… for now. “Yes, Wolf, I will help you.”He smiled a cool, sinister grin that made her cringe. “Just do it and be done with it,” she growled, refusing to meet his ominous smile.

Wolf nodded at his mage, who began to conjure up a fiery red orb. He held it close to the bars until the metal glowed an equally livid orange-red and became malleable. Wolf withdrew his longswords and slashed the bars, the hot metal giving easily to his blades. The mage blew a cone of frost over the severed bars, cooling them instantly. Anora looked on with eyes of equivalent iciness.

Wolf stepped back, half bowing, and motioned for her to follow. “Your highness.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped and promptly exited the cell. They watched each other warily. This was an alliance of convenience but nothing more. It was obvious that given the opportunity, either one was liable to stab the other in the back if it meant furthering their own agenda. But as they say, keep your enemies closer. And Wolf intended to do just that.

 

***

 

Breynna had been drunk only a handful of times, the worst of which occurred in Orzammar just after King Bhelen had been crowned. Oghren had insisted on celebrating with her at Tapster’s Tavern. At first the ale they served had tasted like dirt mixed with a vial of fire bomb liquid. But as Oghren kept replacing her empty mugs with full ones, she gained a new appreciation for its _unique_ character.

The hangover that followed that night was excruciating and she had begged Alistair to put her out of her misery. He refused of course, citing their need for her to slay the Archdemon still. But at that moment she would have found being slain herself much more preferable – if only her head would stop hurting for a moment. Wynne had stubbornly refused to help her, saying Breynna had brought her pain on herself, and Oghren rolled with laughter at her plight. He kept saying that maybe Grey Wardens could hold their darkspawn blood but they sure couldn’t hold their ale. She wasn’t even sure if the drinks he had labeled Dwarven Demonraisers could be classified as just “ale”, but this was a technicality that, at the time, she was indisposed to argue with him over.

As she regained consciousness, here in the cold throne room, that night and its consequences came back to her. Mostly it was the seismic throbbing that she was increasingly aware of in her brain. She blinked her eyes slowly. Nothing was making sense to her. Why was she fully dressed and in the throne room anyway? Why did every thought and movement make her feel like she waded through sludge? And above all else, why in Maker’s name did her head hurt so _badly_?

She raised her head groggily and looked at the table before her. She didn’t notice anything out of place or unusual except for…. Wait. A small vial sat cattycorner from her. It was unlabeled and had a fine white dust inside of it. She moved her arms to pick it up and it was only then that she noticed the paper on the table. A single word scrawled on the sheaf where her arm had been resting: _POISON_.

Her blood went cold. It suddenly became clear to her and she was scared. Forcing down the pounding in her skull, she pushed herself up from the chair. Her limbs still felt like weights but she willed herself over to where Alistair half-sat, half-laid on the throne. He was limp and when she reached him, his cheeks were cold, his breathing shallow.

She shook his shoulders, willing him to wake up. _Maker, no!_ She cried to herself when he would not. As she shook him, the piece of paper tucked under his arm came loose and floated to the floor. She picked it up and read the words. It was a warning, in the same handwriting as the poison note. She felt as if there was a force beyond her control toying with her. And yet, she breathed a small sigh of relief. The note indicated that the poison was not lethal, thank the Maker. But what damage had been caused while they were unaware? She became nervous as she realized she had no idea what time it was or how long they had been out. What if these people were still in the castle?

She gently repositioned Alistair in the throne and kissed his forehead before moving toward the doorway. She still felt like every time she moved and everything she thought took a second longer than it should have. For all their sake, she willed her thoughts clear enough to act. She needed to find Wynne, Eamon, Auralee… anyone and everyone who could help her.

Wynne’s study was closest and Breynna lurched toward it, muscles rebelling at every step. When she got to the doorway her heart fell, finding the study dark and empty. The library next to it and Eamon’s study were equally vacant. _Where was everyone?_ The castle, usually so lively and bustling with activity, was eerily quiet like the pall of death had been lowered on all its inhabitants.

Finding no help in the closest wing, Breynna turned her attention to what the infiltrators might have been looking for. They hadn’t harmed her or Alistair – though they had plenty of opportunity, she thought with a shudder – so they must be looking for something… or _someone_. Now seeming obvious, the though commanding all of her attention as she turned and started toward the dark, cold prison depths under her feet.    

Thankfully, as she walked the length of the hall, she found her limbs slightly more willing to take her where she needed to go. Each step became easier as she trudged on and eventually she reached the big stone archway that led into the main dungeon. The cells on either side were bare, but there hung in the air a tangible static, the essence of recent magic. She made her way to the end cell block warily, watching for any movement or sign that the intruders were still present but she found none.

When she came to the doorway she stopped. The iron bars of the end room had been completely sheared off and Anora was gone. But what amazed Breynna was not the absence of the prisoner but the multitude of guards that had materialized in the previously empty cages.

 It seemed to her as if all the guards from the dungeon and the castle wings had been uprooted and cast into these two large compartments flanking the cell Anora had been in. The guards were awake and aware of her, but they stood in a dazed, ashamed silence. Magic had obviously played a large role in rendering their troops incapable of protecting them, but their awkward displacement was humiliating nonetheless. She felt the flush rising in her cheeks and her legs became wobbly again. For a moment the world swam in front of her eyes and she leaned against a row of iron bars to steady herself.

She noticed something sitting on the bed. _Another note_, she groaned. She willed herself to pick it up and read it; though she had a feeling she really didn’t want to know what it said.

 

_ALISTAIR --_

_QUEEN ANORA WILL BE QUITE SAFE IN MY COMPANY I ASSURE YOU_

_ LIKELY SAFER THAN YOU OR YOUR OWN ‘QUEEN’ WILL FEEL IN THE WEEKS TO COME_

_UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN - WHICH WILL BE ON MY TERMS IF THE PAST IS ANY INDICATION,_

_                                                                        --          WOLF_

In a flash of anger and frustration she banged her fist against the bars, startling the guards watching her. Somehow she had believed that gutting their base in the city would lead to the weakening and eventual defeat of the Resistance. But this counterattack on the castle – of all places! – proved nothing if not that they were intent on their aims and would stop at nothing to achieve them. Bleakly, she realized that she had made the same mistake of underestimating the darkspawn after the death of the archdemon. Both of these adversaries were proving to be more complicated and resilient than she had ever feared.

In defeat, she sat down heavily on the blankets; the irony of this did not escape her. She tried unsuccessfully to choke back embarrassed tears. An archdemon itself she could outmaneuver and destroy, but her fellow men she obviously had no idea how to control or combat.


	18. Aftermath

The aftermath of the castle incident was not pretty. Speculation and paranoia seemed to seep into every moment and every glance between household members the lowly and the noble alike. Accusations were perched on every tongue and every servant feared for their job, their home and especially for their life.

For his part, Alistair kept on a relentless tirade, bellowing about a number of creative manners of punishment and imprisonment for Anora whenever he got his hands on her again. But for as rambunctious as Alistair was with his threats, Breynna was subdued in comparison; she was no less intent on bringing these rogues to justice, but she was absorbed in her own thoughts and musings on the situation. She had before her the note she had found from Wolf, creased from her incessant folding and unfolding. She wasn’t reading it really; she had long since memorized its contents. Instead she thought about what the implications of his words were. If he had broached their securities with such ease, what hope did they have of triumphing over the insurgence he led? She searched in herself for the strength that had guided her to victory in other, similarly improbable circumstances.

Eamon stood, commanding the attention of the gathered nobles, soldiers and advisors in the room. "Your Majesty." The action was small but effective, breaking Alistair’s ranting and focusing his attention back on the task at hand. “In light of these events, what would you have us do? How would you have us respond to this?”

Alistair stopped, as if struck by the force of a thought. He turned and addressed the gathering. “I have made my decision. The time for secrecy is over. It is time to make a stand and force these heathens from our city and our land.”

Breynna stood, her eyes shining and the will to fight beside him renewed. “I agree. We may not win hearts with a manhunt, but we will lose them for sure if we do not act.”

While they spoke, a servant entered from a side chamber and approached Eamon, speaking to him in hushed tone. He held a single piece of paper that he gave to the advisor before bowed and taking leave. Eamon glanced over it a moment and then walked over to where the king and queen stood.

"A missive, from Arl Wulff." Eamon passed the note along first to Breynna, a shadow of concern crossed her features as he did so. "It is an entreaty to Loghain for more men to combat the darkspawn at West Hill."

If Eamon gave any more explanation that that however she did not hear it. Her attention was caught by the handwriting on the paper. It was the same slanted, partially scripted lettering she had memorized from the warning notes. As if she needed more confirmation of this fact, she picked up the note from the table and held it side by side with the entreaty, a barely perceivable shake in her hands. Her eyes glancing from one set of words to the other, both in perfect harmony.

"They are the same," she said finally, handing over both documents to Alistair. Eamon shook his head sadly.

Alistair's lip curled in anger and defiance. "Then he is the one we seek. We shall begin our pursuit at his castle in West Hill and uncover any information we can about the Resistance and its new location. And, if by some chance we have made a mistake, the Arl can explain himself when we get there." A devious little grin broke across his face. "In fact, I hope he is there. I would so dearly love to see him try to explain this." Alistair's fist tightened around the papers.

Eamon examined the king and nodded his approval. “I believe that is the only course of action you can take, Your Majesty. Let your country know that there is no middle ground. They stand with you or they stand against you, but either way you will pursue these menaces until one of you falls.”

Alistair spoke to the gathering once more and this time he commanded their attention. “Let it be known: This land is my entire world; I am nothing if my Ferelden is not free. And make no mistake; I _will not_ brook this trespass on my kingdom!” He remembered the thrill of victory from their assault on the Resistance base and smiled, ready for the challenge and the fights ahead. “I shall take all the available soldiers we can spare and begin our pursuit.  I will lead them to West Hill, to the outreaches of the Bannorn… to the edges of the Frostback Mountain or beyond if I have to. I will bring them all to justice!”

"Very well, your Highness." Eamon nodded, begining to draw up the necessary commands on paper. "I shall advise them to prepare the Guard’s soldiers at once.”

“Castle guards too.” Alistair responded.

Now Eamon looked at him sharply. “Your Majesty? And leave the castle vulnerable to another attack?”

“Clear the castle. Leave only enough guards to secure the perimeter and minimum posts inside the walls. I want every available man with me to pursue these menaces.” Alistair was adamant and Breynna agreed with him. What use was a well-guarded castle if you had no country to rule from it?

Wynne, silently observing the scene until now, looked troubled and spoke. “What about the servants, your Majesty? What shall they do if the castle is empty?”

Alistair paused only a moment, glancing at Breynna. “Well, the city is still in need of able hands, is it not?” The advisors slowly nodded. “Then I release them all to your aid. Form a contingency where they can reprove their loyalty to us and the city. Lady Breynna will need hands to run her charities in her absence and let the men continue repairs to the buildings in most need of reconstruction.”

Alistair continued conferring with his advisors and they eventually a set of plans for their actions emerged. Breynna contributed when she could, but for the most part she let Alistair take the control he seemed to have over the situation. He stood proud and confident – the paragon of leadership they had always felt glimmering just under the surface, just waiting to be revealed. She felt emotion lodging in her throat and a swell of pride in her beloved. Oh, if his kingdom could see him now in this moment, how they would bow and swear loyalty unto him! And how, if the Resistance could likewise see, they would quiver before him in fear!

 

***

 

Breynna could hear Alistair conversing with Eamon in the hallway along with two other deep male voices. They most likely belonged to commanders of the forces he would lead the next day, and it seemed as if the planning and the series of orders would never end. It was already deep into the night and they all ached for rest.

Given that this was the last night they would spend together for…. _Ever_? She quickly pushed aside that thought, not wanting to consider the possibility. _For awhile_, she amended and for that reason she had wanted to make it special.  She huddled under the thick blankets and prayed that none of his attendants would follow him into the bedchamber for any reason. Maker help her, she would die of royal embarrassment if they did. The Maker looked favorably on her however and Alistair alone entered the grand room after bidding his men goodnight. He closed the door heavily and gave a great sigh of relief.

“Andraste’s mercy, being king is certainly quite the task!” He turned her smiling, “What with all these decisions and problems and darkspawn generally running amok…” His voice trailed off in puzzlement.

“Are you ill, my dear? You have wrapped yourself up like a cater in a cocoon sleeping off the winter.” But as he approached the bedside, he noticed her mischievous grin and smiled himself, becoming aware that she had an ulterior motive for doing so.

“What’s going on here?” he asked slyly, knowing he was about to enjoy himself immensely. She pulled back the covers to reveal the scanty undergarments she wore. He drew a sharp breath in looking over them: a cream colored brassiere and panties, with fine Orlesian embroidery, made of material sheer enough for him to just make out the curve and swell of her body underneath. “Maker’s breath!”

His eyes wide with delight, he moved to the bed hungrily but she held up a hand to slow him. “But my king,” she cooed. “You have had such a long day. Why don’t you let me take care of you for a moment first?” She got up out of bed slowly and purposely, letting the soft lace flow over and accentuate her curves as she moved gracefully toward him.

He took her into his arms, feeling her warm skin and soft, silky fabric against her. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen you in anything like this before. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, a queen has her ways,” she smiled elusively.

Breaking his embrace, she stepped behind and draped her arms over his shoulders to free the clasps of his cloak. She trailed some kisses along his neck before whispering in his ear. “I see your new armor finally arrived. It makes you look so…. _Impressive_.” She giggled causing him to blush noticeably.

“It did, in fact. Master Wade crafted a set specifically for me from the archdemon dragonbones.” He tried hard to concentrate as her nimble fingers danced along its edges, undoing his shining silver shoulderplate. “Here I was, so anxious to try it on and have it fitted this evening. Ironically, because of you - my little demon - now I can’t wait to have it off again!”

The devilish gleam in her eyes shone brightly as she snapped off the two side clasps and relieved him of his chestplate. “For that, I am happy to oblige.”

“Yes ma’am.” She laughed playfully and pushed him gently toward the bed. He sat down on the fluffy comforters and she straddled him carefully. 

“I don’t think you have any need of these.” She said as she lifted his arms and slid off his gleaming silver gauntlets. Grabbing hold of his wrists she swiveled her arms down behind her back, drawing him forward so his face landed squarely in her bosom.

“Mm, the Maker loves me,” Alistair mumbled deliriously. She laughed heartily, enjoying his flustered happiness. But at that moment, he rocked his weight back throwing her off-balance. They tumbled backwards and landed together sprawled out across the bed.

“Aha! The upper hand is mine!” he cried victoriously. He reached back to unfasten the last clasps and shook his legplates to the floor. Unencumbered, he pounced on the prone Breynna. She laughed and pulled him close to her. They kissed and giggled with innocent joy.

He pulled away from her and looked seriously into her eyes. He looked at the rosy flush in her cheeks and the brightness sparkling in her eyes. “I love you. No matter what that world throws at us, wherever we go, that one thing will always remain. You know that right?”

“Yes, I do.” She choked back the emotion in her voice. “I love you too, Al. I always will.” She cradled his face and brought him back to her, kissing him deeply and letting herself become enveloped in the warmth and the sensations of being with him.

As they laid together, the world outside and the constant pressures and worries on both of them melted away. For a few moments, they took pleasure in each other and nothing else.


	19. Into the Grey Dawn

They rose before the sun had even breached the horizon the following morning. It had been torturous to rally themselves out of bed, but duty was the trump card they were well familiar with and did not resist its call. Their paths led in opposite directions for the time being: Alistair on a full scale pursuit of the fugitives in the Bannorn and Breynna heading north to Amaranthine. Where they would go from there, only the Maker knew, but both were resolved to follow these paths to their completion wherever that may be.

Breynna watched Alistair now, standing tall and proud in his gleaming armor and barely masking the roguish twinkle in his eye. He seemed so much more confident and in control after the events of the last week and she knew he could carry on without her. In a strange way, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. As much as she had loved (and needed, she admitted) to be in command of her group, this felt right. She could not carry the weight of the whole world on her shoulders forever, and it was a relief beyond words to lay down this burden for awhile. 

They made their way to the great hall where the advisors were waiting for them. On their way, they caught a glimpse of the way the castle would be in their absence - quiet and bare. There was none of the usual morning commotion going on around them and it gave the castle an eerie sense of fatality to have so few people within its walls. They were all agreed that it would be necessary, but the sadness of change and farewells hung around them nonetheless. It shadowed over even the brightness of the morning sun filtering in through the windows onto those gathered in the hall.

“Auralee,” Breynna smiled with fondness at her. Had it really only been a few precious weeks they had been together? “I never could I have imagined that you would have become as vital to our cause as you have proved to be.” Then she added, “Or so dear of a personal friend. You have my gratitude and my affection forever.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Auralee bowed her head politely.

"In light of your dedication and the valor you have shown, we would like to extend to you an offer." Auralee looked puzzled but Breynna smiled wider as she continued. "We consider this to be of the highest recognition we could bestow upon you."

Alistair then spoke to her. “Auralee, it would be my honor if you were to accept my invitation to become part of my personal court, as advisor to elven relations.” Auralee gasped, and Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder to allay her fear. “I do not believe there is any in Denerim that understands so well the complicated relationships and hardships that elves must endure. Yours is a voice and perspective that the nobles must hear and learn to accept. One that I need to hear, as well.”

Still speechless, Auralee turned to Breynna, as if looking for approval. Breynna smiled. “It is your choice, Auralee. In this position, you can work with Elder Shianni in the alienage and the ambassadors in the Dales; work with them and change the ways of this land.”

Auralee bowed to them both, deeply humbled at the recognition. With a shaky voice she managed, “I accept, your Majesty.” There was happy applause from the gathering and she blushed.

“I want you to have this.” Breynna unclasped the red runestone necklace she was fond of wearing and handed it to the woman. Auralee took it and turned the rune over in her hand, the delicate chain cascading over and dangling from her palm. It shined with a scarlet light all its own, illuminated and animated from its harnessed power. She clutched it tightly, allowing a happy smile to break across and light her face. Then Breynna embraced her, whispering, “I may never understand your situation as well as I would hope to, but maybe in time, you can teach Ferelden to understand.”

Breynna released her and turned to Wynne, but before she spoke the woman cut her off with a soft, warm response. “You do not need to thank me, dear one, for your gratitude is already known. And you need not say goodbye because I will see you when you return.” She nodded her head in a wizened, knowing way and Breynna felt a bittersweet happiness. _Good old Wynne._

Eamon bowed his head slightly and motioned to the door. Beyond them their troops were assembled and waiting; beyond them was the unknown and the about-to-be-found; beyond them waited what they would be called heroes for once again.

“For now, dear friends,” Alistair raised his hand slightly and bowed graciously. They returned the gesture and bade them good luck on their journeys. He stopped a moment before saying goodbye to his advisor. “Thank you, Eamon, for everything. I could not have managed these last few weeks without you. I will repay you for your service, I promise." He put a hand on the advisors shoulder and they exchanged a look that said everything that had remained unspoken between them. "And I will make you proud.”

“As you always do, your Majesty."

With their goodbyes said, Alistair and Breynna set out, their armor shining and their blades ready. With the kingdom they fought for at their backs, they turned the energy and focus to the adventures ahead.

  
***

  
At the mouth of the drawbridge, the troops that would accompany Alistair stood waiting. Fergus was with them, and he walked up to the two. “The men await you, your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Teyrn Cousland. I am pleased you will be joining us on this mission as well.” Fergus looked uneasy and did not answer the king right away.

“With all due respect, my lord, I wish to accompany my sister in her journey north.” He glanced at Breynna for approval, obviously deciding this on a whim and unsure of what her reaction might be. Fergus looked distressed as Breynna stood alone with her pack. “It's just that... there are still darkspawn out in the wilds. And I know you can handle yourself, but what if something should happen...? If I go with you, I would give my life so that you would reach your destination.”

“Fergus! Please, it will be alright.” Breynna smiled and put her arm around him. “The Seneschal at Vigil’s Keep sent an escort to aid me, so I shall not be alone. The recruit he sent was the best soldier they had, and it is only a few days journey.” Then a smile flicked onto her face. “I suppose I should have known my older brother wouldn’t let me go gallivanting off into darkspawn country all by myself.”

Alistair chuckled. “You’re a strong man, Teyrn Cousland. There are few men who tell this one what to do and live to tell about it.” Breynna playfully punched a gauntlet to his side.

“Hey! You’ll scuff the nice new sheen!” He whined, laughing. And then, aside to Fergus, “See? I don’t even get to.”

The humor was relaxing and good, and Breynna couldn’t deny she felt a measure of pride and relief at how her brother had fought for her safety. “Besides, Fergus, I would not deny your fine sword for Alistair’s aid. There is a country to win out there, and you will prove invaluable, I am sure, as you always do.” He beamed and swept her into an embrace, the only immediate family he had left and unsure of when, if ever, he would have the opportunity again.

“Maker watch over you, sister.” He bowed politely to Alistair. “I’ll get our horses, your Majesty.”

They watched him leave, a palpable silence hanging in his wake. Breynna turned and nestled her face into the crease between Alistair’s neck and his chestplate. He lowered his chin onto the crest of her head and breathed in the scent of her hair, her being.

“I guess this is… goodbye.” Breynna said hoarsely, half-choking on the words as she said them.

He turned her face up to him and caressed her cheek. “Do not fear, my dear. For when the sun shines on me, I feel you; when the wind blows, I hear you. And when I sleep, I see you. You will ever be in my heart and it is never truly goodbye, if you are always with me.” He lowered his mouth down to hers and kissed her tenderly. Her eyes teared with the beauty and the pain of it, willing this moment to stretch into eternity. And yet it could not.

They broke their embrace and Breynna slipped off a gauntlet to dry her eyes. Alistair took her hand and squeezed it as they walked to where the men were congregated. Ser Rilen held the reins of a fine light gray horse for the king. He patted the steed’s flank and felt its muscles shiver as it stamped one hoof and puffed in impatience. “Alright, boy, I’m coming,” he said absently to the beast.

Turning back to his wife he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. Then leaning down, he tenderly placed another on her cheek. She closed her eyes, trying to memorize everything about this moment.  He dropped her hand to take up the reins and stepped into the stirrups, hoisting himself up onto the animal. The men turned to attention, the sight of their leader mounted proudly on his steed and the order came to fall into line. Breynna watched with pleasure as they began to file out.

“For Ferelden!” He called over the ranks and the men returned, “For Ferelden!” It was a primal act, like a lion roaring and his pride returning the call, and it made Breynna smile. He turned to her one last time and blew her a kiss. Then, turning his horse, he cantered away to the front of the pack.

And in a few moments she couldn’t see him anymore, which was just as well; because her path led another way, and she had another world of responsibility to bear. __

 

***

  
Mhairi, her escort, had long since fallen asleep in their small camp but Breynna sat awake in the night. She poked the fire with a stick, her senses heightened, achingly acute. Her body was weary but she was too alert to sleep. Every time she felt herself drifting off, something brought her back.

She felt a strange aura of darkspawn around them. It was not omnipresent like it was in the Deep Roads, or pinpoint acute like when she battled them. It was only enough to let her know that they were there… _out there_. She shivered with the thought and ached for Alistair to keep watch with her like they had during the Blight. They had been two Wardens in the night, protecting the others, beacons in the shadowy sea of darkspawn and the unknown.

After awhile her muscles began to ache from being curled up beside the fire. She walked a short distance to the river bank to stretch them. She gazed into the black darkness of the water. She found its unknown depths and hidden treasures strangely akin to her own soul; the depths of which her resolve and strength were present no matter how far she pushed herself. She felt her limits were still far from being reached, and as so she hungered for the excitement and the adventure that lay ahead. The position of Warden-Commander excited and pleased her, even if it meant leaving behind things and people she loved. Maker willing, she would return to them one day. But for now she swore to fulfill her duty the best that she knew how.

She pulled out one of her longswords from its sheath and stabbed its point down into the soft, sandy ground. “I am a Grey Warden, the Commander of my kind. Until the last darkspawn withers from existence I will not rest.” She said this staring at the sword. The soft light from its lyrium runes danced and flowed over its surface like stars that had been drawn from the sky above.

“The Wardens will pursue them,” she declared in the darkness, “and I will lead them.”

She vowed to the night. “I will be there.”


	20. In the Shade of the Mountain

_Epilogue_

Morrigan turned the ring over twice in her fingers watching the last traces of sunlight reflecting along its smooth silver edges. Then she flicked her fingers outward leaving the ring suspended over her upturned palm. It floated there, a growing light of its own now. A light which surrounded the ring and expanded outwards until it was the size of a looking glass although more translucent than such an object would be.

The light grew brighter in areas and created shadows in the rest by contrast. A picture began to form and it sharpened in focus the harder Morrigan concentrated. She could make out a woman crouched by a campfire, pine trees all around her, and another curled up in a simple bedroll fast asleep.

Although by appearance the woman could have been any number of a private guard or mercenary force, Morrigan knew exactly who it was. She was the only one Morrigan had ever considered giving the seeing ring to, and even now she wasn’t exactly sure why she had. Certainly it would be beneficial for her to keep track of Breynna’s whereabouts in the coming months or years, but even now she was not completely convinced her intentions had been purely practical. As Morrigan watched the little image of light unfold she felt a pang of familiarity, perhaps even loss, in the camp scene. Could it be that she missed Breynna or their adventures together? Maybe Morrigan had given her the ring because she knew that one day their paths would diverge and she wanted to be able to remember those days in a more real and substantial manner.

In the end though, Morrigan scoffed these ideas aside. Even if Breynna had won some kind of confidence with the witch, it was a trifling and stupid thing for her to be wistful for those days. It was human emotion that got in the way of sound judgment, this much Morrigan knew, and she could not afford to be weakened by such now. As a reaffirmation of this, she glanced toward the scene before her again. It was the illusion of friendship after all that made Breynna keep the ring with her, when she knew full well that she should never have trusted Morrigan’s intentions. She had been skeptical – with good reason – at the time and yet she had kept it. Morrigan chuckled slightly at this; if you controlled a human’s emotions, you could control them entirely it seemed.

She leaned back and watched the scene for a couple more minutes. Breynna tended the fire distractedly as she watched the forest around them. She had the patient, watchful eye that Morrigan knew so well and was glad for. 

All the events of the Blight and the aftermath had centered around Breynna – her companions and citizens alike had been caught in the tide of her will. But now it would be different. Time moves constantly forward and no one, hero or not, can control the force of time and space and inevitability. Since the transition of the Old God, Morrigan had wondered about Breynna’s ability to recover; not only from the Blight itself but to heal herself enough that she could deal with the implications of the actions she had set in motion. But she had persevered, as always, and had regained that inner strength they had all respected and bowed to during their travels. Morrigan was pleased by her efforts. This was the way it should be. No, this was the way it _had to be_.

The day would come soon enough when their paths would cross again and when it did, she wanted there to be no question of ability or inner reserves. She would settle for nothing less than the best that Breynna had to give. That would be Morrigan’s finest hour and she would be damned before she let anything come in its way. Even if she had to watch out for Breynna along the way, here and there, to make sure that the hero stayed on track then so be it.

She closed her hand and the light of the scene began to dissipate. A strong breeze blew through her makeshift camp and with it the remnants of the vision were scattered into the night. Morrigan felt the pang in her once more and frowned. This was no time for idle whims; not when an entire world and its balance rested in her hands. Her free hand glided down and rested on her abdomen feeling the faint spark of life and power residing in her. This was her duty and her destiny that Flemeth had set her upon so very long ago. Those few months ago seemed like half an eternity ago and the greater span of time that coiled out before her now seemed even longer.  

Morrigan smiled, surprising herself with the genuineness of the act. She stood up and gathered her bedroll, placing it into her pack. She felt as if the weariness of the day’s travels had left her entirely and she was anxious to move on again. She could rest when she arrived at the next overpass. For now, she would continue to move; there was much to be done and many miles to cover still. There were so many stories left to be told.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS STORY IS COMPLETE! Thank you for reading!  
> ***  
> This is my first attempt at a full-length fanfic/novella and as such, constructive criticism or suggestions are heartily welcomed! If you have enjoyed it, please drop me a line as well. As they say, comments are love. :)


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